


Of Hearts and Heroes

by Emmilyne



Series: Of Hearts and Heroes [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-28
Updated: 2015-09-06
Packaged: 2018-04-17 14:35:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 50
Words: 404,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4670303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emmilyne/pseuds/Emmilyne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the days following the Department of Mysteries there is no respite for Harry, Ginny learns she is not the plain outsider she thinks she is. Grief and fear lead to late night connections for Ron and Hermione. Sixth year pre HBP AU.</p><p>This is the story I wrote and posted way back in 2005.  I'm posting it here by request since the other sites it was posted on are down.  It is incomplete, but I do have a 50th chapter that has been sitting on a flash drive for a decade.  My plan is to tweak it so that there is some closure and have the whole story transferred here by Labor Day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Heartbeat

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on Checkmated and the Quidditch Pitch
> 
> This is an Alternate Universe Story in the Harry Potter Series in that it branches off from the series before the final Chapter of The Order of Phoenix. Also, the ages of Charlie and Bill Weasley were conceived prior to the announcement by JKR. For the purposes of this story they are Twenty-eight and Thirty, respectively.

“Did you reverse the spell?”

           

“Yeah, but he seems to have slipped into unconsciousness now.”

           

“Wait.  Let me get these tentacles off of him first.”

           

The words floated over him as if from far away.  The meaning behind them followed at a much slower speed.  His limbs were heavy.  His eyelids felt like lead.  The very air around him weighed down on him.  It was so thick that even breathing required monumental effort.

           

“All off.”

           

“ _Innervate_.”

           

The world came back to Ron Weasley in a rush.  Sensations flooded him.  His mouth opened involuntarily and a gush of breath entered his lungs, burning them.  It was as if his body didn’t trust it would get enough air.  His body surged upward and he sat, gasping.

           

Only then did he open his eyes.  Immediately, the knowledge of where he was hit him.   _Shite._ The Department of Mysteries.

           

Ron closed his eyes against the rush of memories.  They had come to rescue Sirius.  They were surrounded.  They ran.  Somehow, they got separated.  Ron hadn’t been able to find Hermione or Harry.  An explosion of some sort … he got hit by some spell.

           

And then Ron had turned into a damned ruddy fool, right in the middle of a bloody battle.  Well, more of a fool than usual that is.   _Fuck._

Taking another deep breath, Ron forced himself to open his eyes and scan the dark room.  Neville sat with a rag to his nose.  It was covered with blood, but he seemed all right.  Luna was cross-legged on the floor in a daze.  Nothing new there.  His sister lay on her back holding up her ankle, while Lupin manipulated it.  Ginny was grimacing in pain.

 

Ron swallowed, forcing his eyes to continue their overly-slow perusal.  Friends were still unaccounted for.  He needed to find …

 

Bloody Hell.  Hermione.

           

He froze at the sight of her, his breath gone again.  Ron’s eyes burned.  He’d never felt such fear, not when he had faced a giant spider, not when his father had been attacked.  There were no words to describe the feeling.  Not that he was very good with words anyway.

 

Ron forced himself to crawl to her.  Why was it taking so long to get there?  Why was she so limp?  So still?  Why were Lupin, Kingsley, and Moody moving so fucking slowly?  Why weren’t they helping her?  Didn’t they see that Hermione needed them?  That she could be dying?  Oh God, oh God, oh God.

           

“Hermione!” he tried to yell, but it came out as a hoarse whimper.  Ron wasn’t actually sure he formed sound at all, actually.

           

It took him forever to reach her.  The relief he felt when he did was nearly overwhelming.  But she was so cold.  Fuck.  She was _so_ still.

          

“Hermione.  Hermione,” he chanted.  “Please wake up.  Please.”

 

She would wake at any moment.  Ron knew it.  She was going to be fine.  He ran his hands over her face.  She was so cool ... too cool.

           

A wave of desperation flowed over him.  He wanted to shake her.  He wanted to scream at her.

 

Carefully, Ron lifted her shoulders and laid Hermione’s head on his lap.  As he did this, sharp knives of pain shot through his chest and arms.  His skin was scorched.  The closer he pulled her the more it hurt.  It was almost unbearable.  He held her tighter.

           

He called for the others to help, to tell him what was wrong, to make her wake up, but no one answered.  No one seemed to hear him.  Tears were falling on his face and arms, making the burning more intense. 

 

Frantically, he felt for her pulse.  Ron’s hands trembled.  Where the hell was it?  He didn’t even know how to find a bloody pulse.  He wasn’t a Goddamn Healer.  Why didn’t they ever teach anything _useful_ at that bloody school …?

 

There it was.  Thump.  Thump.  His eyes slipped closed.  A sigh left him.  He wasn’t going to lose her.  He wasn’t going to lose her.  He wasn’t going to lose her. 

           

But then the pulse was slowing.  Slower and slower.  Her chest was barely moving any more.  “No, Hermione.  No.  I need you!  You can’t go.”

           

The pulse was gone.

           

He searched again.  His hands frantically moving up and down her arm, over her throat … God no, no, no, no.  It had to be there, he had just lost it.

          

Ron woke gasping, dripping with sweat, a burning sensation radiating from his chest and arms.  His heart was beating so hard he thought he might choke.  Again his mind adjusted to this new reality.  The actual reality.  At least he hoped it was.  Anything was better than his dream, even if it was the Hogwart’s hospital wing.  It didn’t matter where he was as long as he could find Hermione.

           

As he sat up and swung his feet over the side of his bed, his eyes anxiously sought out the sleeping figure next to him.  The sight of Hermione all but destroyed him.  Ron closed his eyes against the flood of intense, unwanted, and confusing emotions.  But then he needed to see her.  So the eye-closing was actually rather daft.  Was he going insane?  His eyes opened.  Good, she was still there.  Yup, he was going insane.

           

This was the third night in a row.  The dreams weren’t getting any better.  Hell, they were getting worse.

           

Ron’s eyes traveled over Hermione’s sleeping form.  Carefully, he took in all the subtle signs of life.  The signs that had been missing moments before, in his nightmare.  The tiny flutter of her eyelashes, the subtle movement of her legs under the blankets, the careful rise and fall of her chest.  He watched the sight, transfixed.  _Hermione_.

           

Ron told himself over and over that he was just making sure she was all right.  He was _not_ admiring her body while she slept.  That would be wrong.  Hermione was his friend.  She was his best friend, and she was very vulnerable.  He was _not_ staring at the subtle curves of her chest, which didn’t seem to be quite as subtle as they used to be.  When had that happened?

        

Ron’s face grew hot.  Blimey, what was wrong with him?  When had he become such a hormone driven pervert?  Maybe that was a stupid question, but this was Hermione.  She deserved respect.  She had almost died.

 

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.  She wasn’t dead.  She was alive.  Now, it was time to go _back to bed._

Ron stood.  He got out of bed and was kneeling next to her before he could rationalize his behavior.  He had officially lost all control over his body.  All right, he could see that she was breathing.  She was moving for God’s sake.  She’s just sleeping.  Like he should be doing.

 

Instead, the back of his hand lightly laid itself on her cheek.  How did it get there?  It was betraying him.  But she was so _warm_.  He had never felt anything so wonderful in his life.  Did Hermione always have such lovely, smooth skin?

 

“Mmm,” she hummed in her sleep and he jerked his hand back.  She turned her face away from him, but her breathing didn’t change.

 

Ron breathed a sigh of relief.  The last thing he needed was for her to wake up and find him groping her in her sleep like a crazed miscreant.  He had his reprieve.  It was time to go back to sleep.

 

But there was a nagging thought, a compulsion that wouldn’t be denied.  There was just one more thing he had to do.

 

Ron reached out and carefully took her delicate wrist into his large hand.  She seemed far too fragile.  It took him a moment to find that steady thumping and he began to panic.  He closed his eyes in concentration and used his other hand to steady her wrist as he moved his fingers carefully along the inner edge of her arm …

 

Thank God.  There it was, strong and steady.  Thank God.  Ron started to count, matching his breaths to the beat.  With every thump, he felt the tension flow out of his body.  Maybe he could just sleep like this.  Maybe then he would finally get a good night’s rest.  He was so relaxed that he didn’t even jerk when he felt a small hand cover his.  Shite.

 

Ron slowly brought his eyes to her face and met Hermione’s open eyes.

 

“Hey,” she said in a sleep hoarsened voice.  It sent shivers up his spine.  Hermione gave him a small smile.

 

“Hey.”  Ron attempted a smile back.  “I reckon I should explain,” he said, gesturing his head to where his hands rested together on her wrist.  He didn’t move them.

 

Hermione shrugged, biting her lip.  “It’s ok.”  She squeezed his hand.  “I mean, I have my share of nightmares.  Though I suppose I was lucky, I was unconscious for most of it,” she joked.

 

His hand clenched her wrist.  Ron gritted his teeth, hissing, “Don’t.  Just don’t.”

 

There their eyes met and held.  They had never shared a look quite like this before.  It was … weird.

 

“Sorry,” Hermione whispered, her smile fading.  She worried her lip and he swallowed.  She looked really pretty in the moonlight.  “Do you want to talk about it?” she asked him, pulling him away from the uncomfortable thought.

 

Ron averted his eyes and shook his head.  The last thing he wanted was to talk about it.  He felt her thumb move lightly over the back of his hand.  Somehow, it made him both less and more comfortable.  He still felt the thump of her pulse, though it quickened.  It was starting to get really warm in there.

 

He couldn’t look at her.  Not when Ron knew _she_ wanted to talk about it.  She always wanted to talk about everything.  Hermione never realized how hard it was.  What was he supposed to say?  That every night, he relived the Department of Mysteries?  Only in his dream … in his dreams she died.  Every bloody night, she died and he wanted to die as well.  

 

Ron didn’t even know what the damn dreams meant.  He did know he didn’t want her to draw her own conclusions.  He chanced a quick glance at her face.  As predicted, Hermione looked so adorably expectant that before he knew it, he was talking.  He wondered if there was any part of his body that he had control of anymore.

 

“I thought you were dead.”  Ron’s voice was barely perceptible to his own ears.  Why was he telling her this?  He hoped she couldn’t hear him.  “When they woke me, you were so still.  I couldn’t feel …” He took a shuddering breath.  He couldn’t look her in the eyes.  He couldn’t finish the thought.  He lifted her wrist slightly in explanation.

 

Hermione’s voice quivered when she whispered, “Ron.”

 

His name.  It was just his name and it almost broke him.  Ron pulled her hand up and buried his eyes in her wrist to still the humiliating flow of tears.

 

“Ron, stand up,” she ordered calmly.  It was her self-assured prefect tone.

 

Hermione clearly wanted him gone.  He was repulsive and pathetic.  Certainly much less than a man, not even a boy.  Ron nodded and fought the tears with every bit of strength he had.  He gently laid her wrist back on her belly.  She would _not_ see him cry, he chanted to himself.  She would _not_ see him cry.  

 

“Step back, at the end of the bed,” she commanded and he obeyed for once, stumbling a bit as he did so.  Ron didn’t have the strength to put up his usual fight.  

 

She reached over to her bedside table and retrieved her wand.  Pointing it over to Ron’s bed, she confidently commanded, “ _Accio bed_.”  It slid over neatly and stopped a foot away from hers.  He shook his head.  Only Hermione could get it to stop exactly where she wanted.  If Ron had done the spell the bed would have come crashing over to hers.

 

“You need to get some sleep,” Hermione said primly.

 

What?  He looked back over at her with confusion.  Hermione was fighting a smile.  Her brown eyes were warm in the darkness.  Oh.   _Ohhh_.  Ron smiled.  Did she mean …?  She couldn’t.  She _did_. 

 

Well, what the hell was he waiting for?  For her to change her mind?  He climbed into his bed, turning to lie on his side to face her.  She was so wonderfully close.  He could reach out and touch her.

 

Hermione mirrored his position and smiled brightly.  Their eyes held for the second time that night.  It was better this time.  Maybe he just needed to get used to it.

 

“Does it hurt much?” she asked, softly.

 

“What?” he said automatically, distracted for some reason.  Hermione gestured toward the welts on his arm with a jerk of her chin.  “Nah,” Ron said with what he hoped was bravery.  Actually it burned like bloody murder.  It was even worse when he lay on his side.

 

They smiled at each other for a few minutes more.  Then Hermione held out her arm and rested it palm up on Ron’s bed.  “Here.  Now, go to sleep,” she spoke, again with commanding prissiness.  Only with her, could it be so endearing.

 

Ron blinked at her, and then looked down at her hand.  Hermione was acting so strangely tonight.  Maybe he wasn’t the only one who had gone mental.  Maybe he was just being thicker than usual.  He waited for her to explain, but she had closed her eyes and appeared to be drifting back to sleep.  

 

Sure, _she_ could sleep.  He couldn’t sleep without … ohhh.  Well then.  Ron swallowed.  Reverently, he wrapped both hands around her delicate wrist.  Her steady pulse lulled him into his first peaceful sleep in days.

 

  


                                                            * * * * *

   


“Mind you, the whole Subject is useless if you ask me.  Firenze isn’t much better.”

 

“How can you say that?”

 

Ginny tuned out Ron and Hermione’s bickering.  Looking over, she saw Luna and Neville were doing an impressive bit of ignoring themselves.  She shook her head at the whole thing, but any amusement she could have felt faded when she caught sight of the pained look on Harry’s face.  

 

She should have known their ridiculous pretense of lightness and normality wouldn’t work.  She should have known that no amount of smiling and joking on her part was ever going to remove the vacant, tortured look from Harry Potter’s features.

 

Ginny had thought that Harry would come back to himself when they were finally allowed to visit Ron in the hospital, a day after the Department of Mysteries.  When that hadn’t worked, she thought for certain he would be better when Hermione woke up, but even then the change was minimal.  At least now he would sit amongst people, even for a short time.  Still, Harry looked haunted.  He wasn’t taking care of himself.

 

Not that Ginny really _knew_.  She certainly was _not_ watching him.  She did _not_ keep track of his habits.  It had been years … _years_ since Ginny had last stalked him.  Well, maybe one year.  Stalking was actually something Colin taught her.  A Muggle word for “admiring from a distance,” he’d said, though it was more like following Harry everywhere he went and keeping track of every detail of his life.  

 

It was a fun game Ginny and Colin played second year, an enjoyable way to indulge their mutual crush.  They had even made a pact.  Whichever way Harry leaned, gay or straight, either Ginny or Colin would end up with Harry in the end.  Ginny had been fairly confident she’d win.  God, it was embarrassing to think back.

 

Ginny and Colin got very good at stalking without being noticed.  By third year Ginny’s pride started to smart, so she got more subtle about it.  She didn’t give up all together until the beginning of fourth year.  Ginny no longer fancied Harry Potter.  The game was obsolete.

 

Colin must still be following Harry, though.  He was the one who told her Harry wasn’t sleeping.  As for eating, _maybe_ Ginny had noticed that he was never in the Great Hall anymore, maybe she had talked to Dobby and found out that he didn’t come to the kitchen either.  But she was concerned.  The boy was wasting away.  She couldn’t allow her brother to get out of the hospital wing to find his best mate had died of starvation.  Right?

 

“Hey, where are you going?” Ron asked and Ginny’s head jerked up as she saw Harry rise and walk towards the door.  Her heart rate accelerated.

 

“Er … Hagrid’s,” Harry said.  He kept talking, but Ginny didn’t hear him.  Her heart was pounding in her ears.  Her mind was screaming one loud, self-destructive thought, “Go with him!”

 

Of course, she _couldn’t_ go with him.  She wasn’t even his friend, not really.  Not like Ron and Hermione were.  And it was clear that Harry didn’t even want to be around _them_.  Why would he want to be around _Ginny_?

 

So, clearly Ginny had to stay.  It was a moot point really.  Harry already disappeared out the door.  She sighed, feeling more depressed than ever.

 

Perhaps, Ginny _did_ need to go see Hagrid.  And what did it matter if a girl who _so_ obviously did not fancy Harry anymore wanted to see a mutual friend, who he just _happened_ to be visiting at the same time?  It shouldn’t be a problem since she didn’t have a crush on him anymore.  

 

And who cared if Colin continued to insist she was completely obsessed?  He was obviously just projecting.  Ginevra Weasley had moved on.  She even had a boyfriend of her own, the key work being _had_.  She refused to think about that arse, Michael Corner, right now.  Just the thought of how he broke up with her …

 

 “Ginny,” Hermione said carefully, pulling her back into the conversation.  “Maybe you should go after Harry and talk to him—”

     

Her heart jumped.  Hermione did _not_ just ask her to …?  “Oh no, I’m not going to be your errand girl, I can’t make him talk.”

 

Stupid, stupid!  Ginny protested too much.  They would know.  What would they know?  There was nothing _to_ know.  What was wrong with her?

 

“Why not?  He’s talked to you before,” Hermione argued reasonably.  Far too reasonably, for Ginny’s taste.

 

It was no good.  Ginny knew that she couldn’t go after Harry no matter how much she wanted to.  “I’ve talked.  He’s brooded, besides this is different, worse.  He’s grieving.  We’re all grieving,” she faded off.  She really didn’t want to think about that right now.

 

“I know that,” Hermione snapped and then tempered herself.  “It’s just he needs us right now.”

 

Ginny shook her head.  He needed Ron and Hermione, not her.  “He doesn’t need me.”  Suddenly, she couldn’t stay there any longer.  Ginny quickly gathered her things.  In a moment Hermione would convince her to go after Harry.  

 

Not that that was all that _bad_ a thing.  It was a wonderful excuse really.  She was just doing it to put Hermione’s mind at ease.  “I’ll see you both later,” Ginny called back as she hurried out of the room.

 

She was out the door before anyone could stop her.  In the hallway, she came to an abrupt stop.  Now what?  Was she going after Harry?  Did she really want to start the whole stalking thing again?  This was different, though.  She wasn’t just following Harry.  She was going to talk to him, as a friend.  She just wanted to be his friend, which he needed right now, desperately.  

 

The events of the last few days washed over her, making tears come to her eyes … Sirius.  Oh God.  No, she needed to concentrate on Harry.  He was the one who needed comfort.  After all, what else could she _do_ about it all?

 

Ginny practically ran all the way to Hagrid’s.  She knew that the kids on the lawn were staring at her, but she didn’t care.  She needed to get there before Harry left.  When she arrived at the cottage door she was gasping for breath.  She forced herself to pause until she was breathing normally before she knocked.  Hagrid answered and greeted her with a beaming smile.  

 

“’Allo, Ginny.  So nice to ‘ave so many guests.  You just missed Harry.  He just left.”

 

Her stomach fell.  She forced her face to freeze and not show the disappointment she felt.  Hagrid was too pleased to see her.  She made herself go into the cottage, to drink dandelion juice, and make conversation.  All while she counted the minutes, calculating how long she could stay before she could leave without hurting the large kindhearted man’s feelings.  Every minute there would make it harder to find Harry.

 

She decided she had to stay thirty minutes.  Ginny excused herself after twenty.

 

When she was finally free, Ginny tried to maintain a calm composure as she searched the lawn.  She weaved through the disgustingly cheerful students as they called out greetings to her.  Didn’t any of them have a clue that their whole world was on the brink of disaster?  But she didn’t want to think about that.

 

Shite.  He wasn’t anywhere.  She began to walk the edge of the forest.  Students often went just inside the edge to get some privacy.  It was generally safe if you …

 

Oh God.  There, snogging up against a large oak tree, _their_ bloody oak tree, was none other than her recently ex-boyfriend and … Cho Chang.  Goddamned Cho Chang.  Oh, how she hated that little … Ginny just hated her.

 

“Mmm, Cho,” Michael moaned as he pulled away.  Pulled away and looked right at Ginny.  

 

Her humiliation was complete.  She smiled at him with every drop of evil she had in her heart.  “Michael.”

 

“Hey, Ginny,” the prat’s squeaked.  No, prat was too good for him.  The prick’s voice squeaked like a ponce as he pushed away from his little slag.  At least he had the decency to blush.

 

“Um, hi,” Cho said softly, wiping her mouth.  Then the little bint said the wrong thing.  “Sorry …”

 

“Sorry?” Ginny said vindictively.  “What for?  Being second seems to work for you.  Second at Quidditch, second under this tree …” With that she gave a bright smile and turned on her heel and stalked off.

 

She had a giddy satisfaction as she heard Cho hiss, “You took _her_ here.”

 

“Oww,” Michael whined.  “Cho, I …”

 

Good riddance, Ginny thought.  The satisfaction was incredibly short lived.  The farther she walked, the worse she felt.  

 

Michael had broken up with her the day after the Department of Mysteries.  Her brother was in the bloody hospital wing, she had just been through hell, and her boyfriend breaks up with her over Quidditch … _Quidditch._

 

The little whore can have him.  Ginny wiped her eyes.  She would not cry one more tear over Michael Corner.  She had more important things to cry over and she still needed to find Harry.  

 

She paused in the middle of the lawn, frustrated, humiliated, and depressed.  Maybe she should just give up.  Why couldn’t she find him?  What if something bad happened?  So many people wanted Harry dead.  Just because you couldn’t Apparate onto Hogwarts grounds … Death Eaters had legs didn’t they?  They could walk.

 

Not to mention the state of mind Harry was in.  He might do something foolish.  Wait, how depressed was Harry?  He wouldn’t do something reckless, something he couldn’t take back, would he?  He wouldn’t hurt himself?

 

That thought spurred Ginny into action.  She ran back into the castle and up to Gryffindor Tower.  She glowered at the fat lady when she made Ginny catch her breath before she accepted the password.  

 

Luckily the tower was empty, because Ginny didn’t pause as she ran directly to the fifth-year boy’s dormitory.  Finding it vacant, she thought she would cry.  In desperation, she even checked the boy’s shower.  She didn’t know what she would have done if someone besides Harry had been in there, but no one was there at all.

 

Ginny knew she should give up.  Harry could be anywhere.  Obviously, he didn’t want to be found.  It was almost dinner time.  Maybe she’d try to head him off at the Great Hall.  Oh yeah, he wasn’t eating.

 

There was only one place left Ginny could think of to try.  Ginny wound herself through the castle to the Astronomy Tower.  It was where she went when she didn’t want to be found.

 

Of course, he wasn’t there.  So, she tried one last act of desperation.  Ginny picked up a telescope and scanned the lawn one more time.  Just as she was about to give up, there he was, huddled by the lake, shielded by bushes.  

 

She let the telescope drop in relief.  She could still see him, now that she knew where he was.  Ginny watched him until the air cooled and the sun neared the horizon, trying to decide if she should go to him.

 

She finally decided to meet him when he stood and began to walk back to the castle.  Once again indecision could have been her down fall.  Maybe if she ran she could still cut him off in the entranceway.  Again, she took off at a dead run, one thought floating through her.

 

Ginny really needed to remember that she did _not_ fancy Harry Potter.

 

 

  


                                                            * * * * *

  


 

The group had fallen into a contemplative silence after Harry left the infirmary.  Hermione watched Harry walk out of the hospital wing and her heart broke for her friend.

           

How could he survive this?  He must be dying inside.  Hermione thought about the guilt that she felt for allowing them to go on their “rescue mission.”  There were just so many things Hermione should have done differently.  

 

The minute Harry had mentioned going to the Ministry, Hermione knew it was a mistake.  She knew it was a trap.  She shouldn’t have let them go.  Of course, it was a trap, how could it be anything but?  Especially with Harry’s not having learned Occlumency.  She should have _made_ him learn.  She should have read a book on it and taught him herself.

 

Instead, she had been preoccupied with the OWLs.  As if grades were nearly this important.  If Hermione wasn’t so full of pride, if it wasn’t so important to her to be the top student in the class, to be known as the “brightest witch of her age,” then maybe she could have helped Harry.  Maybe none of this would have happened.

 

But O.W.L. s weren’t her only distraction.  She glanced over at her other best friend as he shoveled chocolate frogs into his mouth.  No, she had far worse distractions than school.

 

Not making Harry learn Occlumency was only the first of Hermione’s mistakes.  It had been _her_ idea to Floo Sirius.  She initiated the breaking of the rules and the betrayal of her prefect status that led to further misinformation and a series of events that led to Sirius’s death.

 

She had made so many decisions foolishly.  There were so many things she wasn’t proud of.  Hermione couldn’t even _look_ at Professor Umbridge in the bed across the room.  What had she been thinking?

 

Even filled with self recrimination and shame, Hermione knew it was a thousand times worse for Harry.  If she felt sick with guilt, then he must be drowning.  Harry, who felt the weight of the world’s problems as if they were his alone … a true hero, with expectations of himself that no one could ever fulfill.

           

If only he’d _talk_ to her.  She could make him see that it wasn’t his fault, that no one blamed him.  They _all_ felt guilty, they all missed Sirius, and they were all afraid.  But Hermione couldn’t talk to him.  He was gone and she couldn’t go after him.

 

Silence followed, interrupted only by the tearing of chocolate frog boxes as Ron continued to eat frog after frog.  Ginny was curled up at Hermione’s feet, playing with her blanket, a far away expression on her face.

           

Hermione scanned her four friends, her gaze finally resting on Ron as he played with his frog cards and munched.  On the surface, he seemed the least affected by everything that happened.  He looked so normal.  Ron always looked so normal.  He always managed to seem like just the average wizard, even in the midst of battle.

 

There was nothing average about Ronald Weasley.  The normalcy was a mirage.  The simplicity an act.  And the calm … that was a lie.

 

Hermione knew the truth.  She knew that he was brave beyond measure, loyal beyond reason, and, in his own way, more brilliant than he would ever realize.  She also knew that every night he cried real tears and screamed out in terror.  The affects of the Department of Mysteries were eating away at all of them.  

 

Unbidden, Hermione’s mind flashed to an image of the night before.  She saw Ron kneeling over her, holding her wrist with more tenderness than anyone would think Ronald Weasley was capable of.  Just one more thing he hid from the world.

 

It was moments like that, when he touched her, when he looked at her with such caring.  It made her think there was a chance for them.  All these little moments were what kept her going.  

 

Hermione shook her head to clear it.  Was now really the time for romantic wonderings?  With everything that was going on, how could she be so shallow?

 

She forced herself to look at her other three friends.  Luna continued to read her paper, seemingly oblivious to her surroundings.  Neville appeared sad and downtrodden.  Ginny had a far away expression … wait, she her gaze lingered down at the girl at her feet.  Just because Hermione was stuck in this bed …

 

“Ginny,” she said carefully, her mind working rapidly to develop a plan.  “Maybe you should go after Harry and talk to him—”

           

Ginny’s eyes flew to hers.  “Oh no, I’m not going to be your errand girl.  I can’t _make_ him talk.”

           

“Why not, he’s talked to you before,” she wheedled.  If Ginny was to talk to Harry, maybe he wouldn’t feel so alone.  Maybe she could convince him to come back to the hospital wing.  Ginny _had_ to convince him.

 

“I’ve talked.  He’s brooded,” Ginny said in a self depreciating tone.  “Besides this is different, worse.  He’s grieving.  We’re all grieving,” she finished, absently.

           

“I know that,” Hermione snapped, before she had time to think.  She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself.  “It’s just he needs us right now.”

           

Ginny looked at her with misery.  “He doesn’t need me.”

 

Hermione met her gaze.  Did Ginny still fancy Harry despite everything she said?  Despite Michael Corner?  Is that what was going on here?  Otherwise, it didn’t make sense.  Ginny was as good at getting Harry to talk as anyone.  Not that that was saying much.

 

Before Hermione realized what was happening Ginny had quickly gathered her things.  “I’ll see you both later.”  She was out of the room before Hermione could think of a reply.  She was left to stare after her friend, her jaw ajar.

 

Neville and Ron called out distracted goodbyes and Luna looked up only after she was gone, scanning the room as if to determine what was different.  Frowning sullenly, Ron went back to eating those ruddy chocolate frogs with a vengeance.

 

Having failed miserably with her plan, Hermione turned her focus on the familiar.  “Ron, you are going to make yourself ill if you keep eating all those frogs,” she said disapprovingly.

 

She knew she was nagging.  She liked nagging.  It felt good.  It was familiar and comfortable.  If she couldn’t save Harry from himself, Hermione could at least save Ron from a stomachache.  At least Ron needed her.  For now anyway.

           

“Rey make me feel redder H’mione,” he said with his mouth full.  He swallowed, “We’re supposed to eat chocolate when we’re not feeling well,” Ron pouted.  “Right, Neville?”

           

“What,” the awkward boy sputtered, looking panicked.  His eyes darted quickly between Ron and Hermione.  “Er, sure … I mean no … what was that again?”

 

Ron frowned at the total lack of support and turned the full force of his puppy-dog-eyes on Hermione.  He was adorable.  His blue eyes and pleading expression made her insides melt.  It made her remember the liquidy sensations she had felt last night that traveled up her wrist to . . . well, Hermione didn’t actually understand just what Ron made her feel.  She only knew that it only happened with him.

 

With practiced poise, she made sure he never knew the power he had over her.  “I think you passed the point of medicinal about two dozen frogs ago,” she told him.  If she ignored the tingling sensation in her stomach it would go away.  It always did.

        

“Oh and how many frogs exactly is _medicinal,_ Hermione?” Ron asked sarcastically.  “Maybe I should keep eating and we’ll see exactly how many one can eat before vomiting.” He defiantly bit into a wriggling frog.

           

Now she was annoyed.  Hermione felt the first flames on anger begin to ignite.  This was good.  This was an even better distraction.

           

“That’s really mature, Ron.”  She crossed her arms and sat back on the bed.

           

“Um, don’t you think …?” Neville broke in softly, freezing as Hermione glared at him.    Neville didn’t understand.  Hermione _needed_ a good fight right now.

           

Thankfully, Ron didn’t even acknowledge Neville’s words.  His narrowed eyes were fixed securely at Hermione.  That was the other thing she loved about fighting.  He always fixed his full attention on her, the full force of his passion.

 

“Fine,” Ron hissed, throwing his frog onto his bed stand.  “Are you happy?”

           

She wasn’t, not one bit.  “Yes,” she replied.  

           

Great, now Hermione was struggling with guilt again.  Guilt for snapping at Ron, but even more so for dwelling on decidedly impure and completely pointless feelings for one of her best friends, while the other was going through agony.  Not to mention that another friend was gone for good.  

           

Damn it!  Hermione normally didn’t swear, but she _had_ to get out of this hospital bed.  She needed to _do_ something.  She needed to help Harry, she needed to make him talk, or go to the library and research something, anything.

           

“Blimey, Hermione, you don’t need to pout just because I ate a few frogs.  I stopped didn’t I?” Ron griped, sounding hurt.

           

“I’m not …”  Hermione started to say to defend herself, but what could she say?  She hadn’t meant to hurt Ron.  He looked so dejected, sitting there starring down at his arms, poking at his healing scars.  She should apologize.

           

“Ron, leave your ointment alone.”  Why did she say that?  He shot daggers at her and she deserved it.  Once she started nagging she couldn’t seem to stop.  

             

“Ok,” Neville said, hurriedly standing.  We’re gonna go.  Come on, Luna.”  He pulled on Luna’s arm and she looked up at him, perplexed.  She must have recognized his desperation, because she followed his hasty retreat without question.

 

“Good job, Hermione, now you’ve driven everyone away,” Ron shot at her bitterly.

 

She couldn’t take it anymore.  It was all too much.  Sirius.  Harry.  Ginny.  Neville.  Luna.  Ron’s scorn was the last little bit she could take.  Hermione burst into tears.  No preamble, just full gut-wrenching sobs.  Tears gushed down her face.  Her whole body shook from the force of it.  Heavens, she was pathetic.

 

“Bloody hell, Hermione!” Ron cried his voice panicked.  “I didn’t mean to ... why’d you have to go and …?”

 

The poor boy, she knew he hadn’t meant it.  It really wasn’t his fault, but she couldn’t catch her breath to reassure him.  Hermione was just as powerless in this as she was with everything else.  She buried her eyes in her hands, at least blocking out the pained expression she had caused on his face.

 

The bed shifted, and she barely registered that he must be now sitting next to her.  Hermione felt his hands awkwardly touch her shoulders.  It felt better than she deserved.  “Will you at least look at me?” he pleaded.

 

His tone pulled at her heart.  Hermione wanted to give him what he wanted, but she had so little energy left in her.  Slowly, she dragged her hands down.  She _could_ at least look at him, he did deserve that much.  She needed to get under control, to face his annoyance and irritation and be done with it.  Yet, when she looked into his eyes all she saw was tenderness and caring in their bright blue depths.

 

Hermione felt herself fall into him.  Even the thought of Ron’s poor raw, wounded chest and arms couldn’t stop her.  Why should it when the sharp pains cutting through her ribs with every sob, couldn’t convince her body to stop?  Tentative arms encircled her.

 

“I’m so sorry,” Hermione managed to whimper into his chest, her arms curled up into a tight ball under her chin.

 

Ron made a sound that was half choked sob, half laugh.  His breath ruffled her messy curls and his arms tightened around her back.  They squeezed her and hurt her ribs and made her feel thankfully alive.  She thought this was the best thing she had ever felt.

 

“Ron,” she said, just to reiterate to herself that this was indeed Ron Weasley there with her.  He was doing such a good job of it.  It almost seemed too much like a fantasy to be real, stabbing pains or not.

 

“Shhh,” he murmured, holding her confidently.  Too confidently for Ron.  He even began to rock her slightly and rubbed her back lightly.

 

Just when she thought Ron couldn’t surprise her, he did.  Hermione grabbed his shirt and allowed herself to give in completely.  When did Ron get so mature, so strong?

 

Heavens, what was she going to do now?

 

 

  


                                                            * * * * *

 

 

 

When Harry first sat in his hidden spot by the lake, the sun was at its peak brightness.  The wind was light, just enough to take the edge off the hot sunshine.  The air smelled of grass and new growth.  It was a perfect June day.

 

It wasn’t until the steady din of happy voices started getting quieter that Harry noticed the sun was nearer to the horizon and the air had cooled.  He realized that everyone must be going in to get ready for dinner.

 

Harry was glad for it.  In his isolated corner by the lake and shrubs they couldn’t see him, but he could hear _them_.  Hear the glad cries and mindless happy chatter.

 

Why was everyone so bloody happy?  Didn’t they know that there was nothing in the world to be happy about?  Didn’t they understand that horrors beyond their imagination were just over the horizon and after that … there was no safety, there was no trust, and there was no one to turn to.  Adults degraded you or betrayed you, lied to you or left you. Even if they wanted to protect you, they couldn’t.  Or maybe that was just him.

 

As the voices quieted, he felt even more alone.  Harry didn’t know if he could handle the solitude, but he didn’t really deserve anything else.  Maybe _this_ was his destiny.  To be on his own, so he could battle Voldemort and kill or be killed, so that everyone else could live their normal lives.  Maybe the reason everyone around him died was because he wasn’t supposed to have people … friends and, especially, family.

 

Maybe there was darkness in his soul.  Maybe the universe had created a necessary evil, someone just evil enough to kill the monster.  That would explain why Harry couldn’t have a normal life.  He didn’t deserve it.

 

The sun was getting lower and it was getting cold.  He got up to walk back to the castle, though he didn’t recall making that decision or why it might be a good one.  His muscles ached from sitting in one position for too long.  He had no idea how long, really.  On the walk through the lawn he realized his cheeks were wet.  Harry wiped them with his sleeve.

 

Not that it mattered.  He was past caring if someone saw him cry.  Harry was surprised, however.  He actually thought himself beyond crying.

 

Inside, he paused in front of the Great Hall, watching the students file in for dinner.  The food was just about to appear, Harry knew.  He was disgusted by all the smiling faces.  He knew he couldn’t go in there.  The mere thought made him nauseated.  He turned, intent on getting as far away from there as possible … but where should he go?

 

“Harry!”

 

Shite.  He froze, panic rising in him.  Oh God, please just leave him alone.  He didn’t want to talk to anyone.

 

“Harry,” the breathless voice called again, closer this time.

 

He fought the urge to run in the other direction as fast as he could.  He wanted to run ... to run and run and run, until there was nowhere left to run to.  Finally turning, he saw Ginny rushing toward him, looking disheveled and out of breath.  He breathed a sigh of relief.

 

It could be much worse.  At least Ginny knew what happened.  She wouldn’t ask him stupid questions.  She wouldn’t expect him to be happy.  Regardless, Harry couldn’t manage even a smile in greeting.

 

She ran up to him, doubling over to catch her breath.  Where had she run from?  After a moment she gasped, “You … going in to … eat.”

 

He stared at her.  Why was she asking?  Was she going to try and make him eat?  “I’m not hungry,” he told her.  His voice was oddly toneless to his ears.

 

Ginny looked him over.  She had a hand to her chest as her breathing normalized, and a frown on her face.  “Neither am I,” she said matter-of-factly.

 

Harry nodded, for want of anything else to do.  He didn’t know what to say.  He wondered what she wanted from him.  Her gaze was too intense.  He had to look to the floor.  He put his hands in his pockets and shuffled a bit.

 

“Um … so, Harry,” she began.  Here it came, whatever it was she wanted from him.  He steeled himself for it.  “Could you do me a favor?”

 

His panic rose, his eyes flying back to her face.  No fair.  She couldn’t ask him to do a favor without telling him what it was.  He didn’t respond.

 

“I … uh … could you take a walk with me?  Um, I really don’t want to see anyone or talk to anybody.  They’re all so irritatingly cheerful, you know.  I, uh,” she bit her lip, and glanced away, “I figure if I was walking with you, no one would bother me.”

 

Harry almost laughed.  No, no one would dare approach her when she was with the sullen Harry Potter.  He was dangerous.  They all knew enough to stay away.

 

He considered her request.  Was it really just as she said?  It could be a trick, a way to corner him and force him to talk.  Hermione could have sent Ginny to do her dirty work.  It was just the sort of thing his best mate would do.  Though, Ginny didn’t seem to type to be easily manipulated.

 

“We don’t have to talk,” she blurted out, then blushed.  Harry smiled a bit, nodding.  Sometimes she so reminded him of her brother.  He might as well go.  He couldn’t think of anything else to do anyway.  She sighed in relief and they headed back out onto the lawn.

 

True to her promise, they walked in silence.  Harry didn’t know what to think of that.  It was nice, certainly.  Though that wasn’t necessarily a good thing.  He was still left to his thoughts, but for some reason, with Ginny there, they never got _too_ dark, which was good and bad.  Part of him wanted to sink as low as he could possibly go.  He was comforted by the dank blackness.  At least then, he knew he was serving his punishment.

 

After a long while, Harry chanced a glance at Ginny, she seemed lost in thought as well.  He wondered what she was thinking.  She caught him looking at her and gave him a small smile.  His stomach turned at having been caught.  The edges of his lips twitched in some semblance of a smile, before he went to looking back straight ahead.  The longer they walked, the more he wondered why Ginny was even there with him.  It was peculiar really.  

 

They were half way to Hogsmeade by then.  What if they kept walking?  Could they walk straight through the village?  What was on the other side?  Could they walk all the way to the ocean?  Then what?  How long would it take for anyone to notice they were gone?

 

“Harry, look,” Ginny said softly.  Even the quiet sound grated his ears, after the long silence.  His brow furrowed as his eyes followed her pointing finger.  Up past the trees lining the dirt road to Hogsmeade, Hagrid was talking to someone.

 

Instinctively, Harry walked toward the sight, needing to get a better look.  Hagrid seemed to be standing in front of a woman … a witch in robes.  They seemed to be arguing.  The witch skirted around him and continued toward the castle, leaving Hagrid to amble after her.

 

Harry’s heart rate accelerated, as he continued to move toward them.  He noticed Ginny, hurrying to keep up.  Abruptly, he paused.  Harry reached out and grabbed Ginny’s arm.

 

“What?” she hissed, it was barely a whisper.

 

“I’m doing it again,” he said blankly.  “Rushing into danger, playing the hero, getting people killed.”  He looked down at her.  It was bad enough that he was moving blindly into danger.  He was dragging Ginny along with him.  Again.

 

Ginny looked at him in confusion.  Her expression quickly turned to annoyance.  Her eyes narrowed, and then rolled.  “Fine!  Then I’m rushing into danger, and you had better follow me or _I_ might die, Mr. Hero.”  She pulled away and ran ahead of him.

 

Harry opened his mouth to scream after her, but stopped as he realized that would put them in even greater danger.  “Shite,” he muttered under his breath, before running to catch up.

 

In the fading light, it was easy for the two teenagers to make their way unnoticed to the road.  Harry joined Ginny behind a particularly large tree trunk, just ahead of where Hagrid and the witch were arguing.  

 

The witch was walking toward them at a brisk pace.  “I told you,” she was saying.  “I’m not telling anyone who I am or why I’m here, except the person I came to see.”  She sounded frustrated and tired.  There was something strange about her speech.

 

Harry glanced down at Ginny, who was pressed tightly against the tree.  She caught his gaze, mouthing, “American.”

 

Oh.  That was strange.  Harry looked to the street again.  They were getting closer, he could now see the woman had long black hair and annoyed expression.

 

Hagrid was trying to over take her, but though his legs were longer, his bulk prevented him from matching her speed.  “Who do ya want to speak to?” he asked anxiously.  When she didn’t answer he prompted, “Professor Dumbledore?”

 

“Not specifically, but I suppose it’s inevitable.”  Her concentration seemed else where.

 

Hagrid was able to make it around her and cut her off again.  She paused in front of him frowning.  She crossed her arms and looked up at his intimidating height, saying, “Look, it’s been a long walk from the village.  I’d forgotten how long.  Your stupid no Apparating nonsense …”  She took a deep breath.  “I really need to get to the damn castle.”

 

Hagrid crossed his arms as well.  “I’m not movin’ till you tell me who it is yer here to see.”  His attempt at intimidation was dampened by his clear anxiety.  

 

 “Fine,” the woman snapped.  “I’m here to see Harry Potter.”

 

All the breath left Harry’s body and the world seemed to dim and sensations dampened.  The feel of Ginny’s nails biting into his arm brought him back to reality.  He put a hand on her back, to comfort her … or to steady himself, he wasn’t sure which.  He forced himself to listen to the conversation.

 

“But … but,” Hagrid was stuttering, clearly thrown.  “You can’t see Harry!” he blurted and Harry felt a rush of warmth at his loyalty.

 

The witch’s eyes widened.  “Oh, yeah?  Why not?”

 

The large man sputtered some more.  He was awful at thinking on his feet, even more so when he had to lie.  “’Cause …’cause Harry’s not ‘ere.”

 

The woman seemed to be hiding her amusement.  “Really?  That’s interesting, given that he’s behind that tree over there, watching us.”

 

 

  


                                                            * * * * *

  



	2. Trust

Hagrid sputtered, “‘Cause, ‘cause Harry’s not ‘ere.”

 

The strange woman seemed to be amused.  “Really?  That’s interesting, given that he’s behind that tree over there, watching us.”

 

Oddly enough, Harry wasn’t particularly surprised at the witch’s announcement that he and Ginny were hiding behind a tree, spying on her.  Perhaps, he had finally reached his limit for revelations.  Maybe he’d just reached his limit for emotions in general.  Had he finally gone numb?

 

Nails dug into his arm, deep enough to draw blood … now _that_ wasn’t numb.  Suddenly, Harry was very aware of Ginny next to him.  He forced himself to think about what they should do.  Should they run?  Should they confront the woman?  Perhaps Harry could distract her, and then Ginny could run.  Could he convince her to go?  Not likely.  He sighed helplessly, and watched to see what the woman would do next.

 

Hagrid was still stammering and shaking his head.  “No!  What!  No.  Harry’s not there—here, I mean … _no_ ,” he insisted.

 

The woman rolled her eyes, placing her hands on her hips as she looked over where the two teenagers stood.  “Come on out, Harry.  You’re not accomplishing anything by dawdling.  What do you think I’m going to do to you, anyway?”

 

Harry almost laughed.  What would she do to him?  The possibilities were endless.  Harry turned to insist Ginny stay put …

 

“And your friend, too,” the witch said in a weary tone.  “It’s getting late.  Don’t you want to know who I am and why I’m here?  Trust me, you want to know.”  The last part was muttered, but it caught Harry’s attention.  

 

Ginny pulled away and walked out from behind the tree before he had time to consider there next move.  She left Harry with nothing to do but follow, shaking his head with annoyance.  Hell of a lot of good it did trying to be noble with _that_ girl.  She had a bloody death wish.

 

“Look, what we have here,” the woman said, throwing Hagrid an I-told-you-so look.  She walked briskly toward them.  Harry took a step closer to Ginny, as the witch stopped a few feet in front of them.  She took a deep breath, her expression losing a touch of its edge.  “So, you’re Harry,” she said, looking him over carefully.  Harry thought he saw a moment of vulnerability, but it quickly left as she turned her attention to the girl next to him.  “And you are … Ginny, is it?”

 

Something about the witch knowing Ginny’s name made Harry’s heart clench.  He grabbed Ginny’s arm and hauled her next to him.  

 

The woman formed an amused smile, then her brow furrowed.  “Huh,” she said, her expression changing.  She looked like she had just encountered an intriguing puzzle.  “Well, isn’t this interesting?”  She shook her head and gave a soft bitter laugh.  “Destiny has quite the sense of humor, don’t you think?”

 

Ginny sneered, “So, you know who we are.  Who the hell are you?”  Harry looked at her wide eyed.  The red-head certainly had stones, more than were good for her.

 

The strange witch’s lips twitched, showing no signs of intimidation.  He saw Ginny clutch the wand in her pocket.  If the woman noticed, she ignored it, saying simply, “I’m Adrianna.”

 

“Adrianna what?”  Ginny bit out angrily.  Harry pulled her back.  That girl was going to get herself hexed.

 

The woman’s eyes lit with the challenge thrown at her.  “American Aurors don’t have last names.  Not ones that we use anyway.”

 

Harry sensed Ginny’s sharp retort coming and he pulled her back roughly, purposefully stepping in front of her.  He didn’t need her antagonizing this woman, especially if she were telling the truth about being an Auror.  Shite, what must an American Auror be like?  They thought Mad-Eye was around the bend.  He could just imagine the recklessness.

 

“So, why are you here?”  he asked carefully.  Harry tried to get control of the situation, tried to pay attention to everything that was happening.  It was _so_ hard.  His brain hadn’t been working as quickly since Sirius had … he shook his head to clear it.  The woman was looking at him with an almost concerned expression.  It really pissed him off.  “Well?”  he snapped.

 

The irritating concerned look turned back into a bitter smile.  Harry was relieved.  “I’m here …” she began, and then stopped to sigh again, “because, as I said, Destiny’s got a wicked sense of humor and apparently I’m just Destiny’s bitch so …”

 

Harry eyes narrowed, not in the mood for diatribes or cryptic nonsense.

 

“Fine,” she said shortly.  “I had a vision.  When I ignore visions, really, really bad things happen.  So, I do as I’m told.  This particular vision said you and your friends are in danger.  There are two others … another redhead and a curly haired girl …?”

 

Harry’s thoughts flashed to his friends in the hospital wing, his hand tightened around Ginny’s arm.  He wasn’t going to let anything happen to them.

 

The concerned expression was back on this _Adrianna’s_ face.  “Are they all right?”  she asked.  Harry shook his head, not understanding what she was asking.  “Relax, I didn’t come all this way to hurt you,” she said wearily.

 

He scowled at her.  “Well, you delivered your message.  You can go back to wherever you came from now.”  Harry started to back away.  It was difficult as Ginny didn’t seem to want to be dragged along and he _wasn’t_ leaving her behind.

 

“Hold your horses, cowboy,” Adrianna laughed.  “If that was it, I’d have sent an owl.  I’m here to protect you.”

 

 “What!” Ginny screeched.

 

Harry pulled on her arm, cutting her off.  “I don’t want your protection,” he bit out.

 

The witch was unfazed by their protests.  “You have about as much say in this as I do, which is pretty much means none.  I’m here whether you like it or not.”

 

Harry couldn’t believe this was happening.  He couldn’t believe Hagrid was just standing there like a bloody rock.  He had to get Ginny out of there.  He needed to get word to Dumbledore.

 

“We can go find Dumbledore if you’d like, that’s fine,” the strange woman said calmly.

 

Harry took a sharp intake of breath.  That wasn’t the first time the woman had answered an unspoken thought or question.

 

“You’re reading our minds!”  Ginny accused heatedly, before Harry had a chance.  Adrianna’s expression was completely unapologetic, which only made another wave of fury radiate from Ginny.  “How are you doing it?”  she demanded.  “Seers are not generally good at Legilimency.”

 

“I am not a Seer,” the witch stated firmly, as if disgusted by the thought.  “And it is _not_ Legilimency.  I’m an Empath.  It’s all part of the fun prize package.”

     

It was too much information for Harry.  He didn’t understand.  “What’s an Empath?”  he hissed to Ginny.  She shook her head.

 

“You’re kidding,” Adrianna said incredulously.  “You’ve never heard of Empaths?  You know, people go on about this great Hogwarts’ education, like it’s the best ever.  Pathetic.”

 

Ginny visibly bristled and harshly countered, “Yeah, well I know that Empaths read emotions and _not_ thoughts.”

 

“Evidently, we can do both.”  The woman’s expression was smug.  “Especially, when the thoughts and emotions are particularly well connected.”  Ginny’s jaw was clenched tight.  Harry wondered what she’d do if he let go of her arm.

 

Hagrid cleared his throat, stepping forward nervously.  “The study of Empaths isn’ priority ‘ere, miss, seein’ as they’re all dead.  Er, I mean, we _thought_ they were all dead.”

 

Harry’s eyes flew to the woman whose claim had just been refuted.  Ginny gave a small triumphant “humph” at Hagrid’s words, if to say, “Ha!  Explain that!”

 

The woman’s eyes flashed.  She seemed genuinely angry for the first time.  “Really and why would you _presume_ such a thing?”

 

Hagrid swallowed.  “’Cause ther last known Empath were twelve when …” The large man faded off and his eyes widened as he looked over the woman.  “Blimey, wha’ did yeh say yer name was?”

 

The woman seemed to deflate a bit at his expression, but she didn’t answer him.  She almost seemed anxious.

 

“Adrianna,” Harry answered for her, wanting to know why Hagrid was having this reaction.  “She said it was Adrianna.  Does that mean something to you, Hagrid?”

 

His large friend’s eyes flew between Harry and the woman repeatedly, back and forth.  “Blimey,” he said breathlessly.  “Blimey ... that’s … that’s just not possible.”

 

The woman smiled an ironic smile, “Course it’s possible.”

 

“But she … you … blimey …”  Whatever she was, it was clearly shaking Hagrid.  He looked like he was about to hyperventilate.

 

“ _What_!” Ginny demanded with impatience.  “Who is she?”

 

Adrianna ignored her, instead approaching Hagrid and placing a hand under the man’s elbow.  “Hagrid, you seem a bit unsteady on your feet.  Maybe we should get you back to your cabin.  I don’t know if I know a spell strong enough to move you if you should pass out,” she joked.  “Besides, I’m exhausted and they,” Adrianna looked at Harry and frowned, “haven’t eaten for … days?  Hmm.  You certainly need someone to look after you, don’t you?”

 

“How dare you—” Ginny bit out.

 

“I dare a lot of things,” she said casually.  “Come on.”  She gave a slight pull at Hagrid’s elbow.

 

Their large friend looked down at her, asking with awe, “Is it really you?”

 

“It’s really me,” she said gently and to Harry’s surprise when she put pressure on Hagrid’s elbow this time, he followed easily.  As they walked toward his cabin, Harry stood frozen in indecision.  “You coming?”  Adrianna threw over her shoulder.

 

Harry looked down at Ginny.  She was looking up at him with question and longing.  He watched her eyes follow the two down the path.  It was clear Ginny wanted to find out what was going on, whatever danger that might entail.

 

Sighing, Harry threw his better judgment to the wind and followed.

  


  


* * * * *

 

  


Ron sat against the short, uncomfortable headboard of Hermione’s hospital bed.  She was stretched out next to him on her side, her head resting on his chest, crying silently.  Ron clumsily attempted a soothing, circular pattern on her back with his hand.

 

That’s what one was supposed to do, right?  The circle thing?  He seemed to remember that’s how his mum comforted Ginny when the twins had destroyed yet another of her dolls.

 

After Ron had summoned every ounce of Gryffindor courage he possessed to approach his sobbing best friend … holy shite, he had touched her.  He actually initiated an embrace with Hermione.  Hermione, his best mate.  The _girl_ best mate.  The brilliant, perfect, pretty one.  

 

Wow, that was quite a bit of courage Ron had found there.  Not that it meant _anything_.  It was just a friend thing, a comfort thing.  Hermione had been really upset.  He would have been a complete prat not to do something about it.  Even still, it was one of the hardest things he’d ever done.

 

He had touched her.  On purpose.  It didn’t seem like a big thing, but it was.  For some unknown reason Ron had been terrified to touch Hermione since the day they met.  It was mental really.  It wasn’t as if he was standoffish.  He came from an affectionate family.  Casual friendly touching was something that he had always been comfortable with.

 

Hermione had always been the exception.  From the day they met, touching her just made him … uneasy.  He figured it was just that she was so intimidating, so pristine, so perfect.  Past that, he had never thought much of it.  Then last year when he randomly had this thought.  This odd, uncomfortable thought that touching her would be … bloody brilliant.  

 

It was a strange thought.  Ron often wished he had never thought it.  He had been sitting next to her in class and pop, he had the thought that it would be fantastic if his hand touched hers.  Just a brush, nothing special.  The thought was so disquieting that he had quickly initiated an argument that guaranteed he wasn’t in touching distance of her for two weeks.

 

The thought faded and Ron had been relieved that things went back to normal.  Then a month later she leaned over to show him something in his Charms book and her hand _did_ brush his … and it _was_ bloody brilliant.  Why, he didn’t know.  It was just a brush.  It shouldn’t feel good.  It shouldn’t feel like much of anything, especially when it was your best mate.

 

So, again he started a row.  And so it went.  Periods of calm and then the thoughts came back, just briefly, and threw him off balance again.  Then there was the time she kissed him before the Quidditch match.  Ron didn’t even want to think about the crazy things _that_ did to him.  No wonder he played so poorly.

 

But this time Ron had initiated it.  It was the very first non-accidental touch Ron Weasley had initiated with Hermione Granger, his best friend who was also a girl.  Exactly the kind of girl one shouldn’t be touching.  She deserved more respect than a stupid bloke touching her for his own perverted pleasure.  Only a boyfriend was allowed to do that.  And since Ron couldn’t think of a single wizard worthy of that title, no man should be receiving that particular pleasure from his Hermione.  

 

The biggest problem with that was that Ron currently _was_ receiving a perverted thrill from embracing her.  He had to constantly remind himself that this was about comforting her, not about his pleasure.  He _had_ to embrace her.  Hermione needed him.  

 

Ron was merely making her feel better and it seemed to be working.  Well, she seemed to have calmed down at least.  Her eyes were closed and she was all soft and pliable against him.  She was kind of clinging to his shirt, as well.  That meant she was comforted, didn’t it?  For once in his whole bloody life, Ron seemed to have done something right.

 

Not that he knew what he was doing.  When Hermione started to cry, he had panicked.  Embracing her had been an act of desperation.  He fully expected her to rail at him or push him away in confusion.  Yet, she hadn’t.  She had kind of fallen into him, and soaked his shirt with tears.  It was rather scary, really.       

 

Also, it was somewhat painful.  It was bloody uncomfortable leaning over a girl for so long.  His legs ached and his wounds burned.  And damn could that girl cry, and cry, and cry.  Madam Pomfrey had come and gone.  She’d seen Hermione sobbing her heart out, sectioned off Professor Clip-clop, and politely left them alone.

 

The frightening hiccup-sob thing Hermione was doing finally faded to ordinary weeping.  It took another several minutes for Ron to build up the courage to listen to his aching back.  He had managed to move them against the headboard to stretch out his overly long legs.  ‘Course, he hadn’t taken into account the way the hospital bed head-board would dig into his back.  At least Hermione looked comfortable.  That’s all that really mattered.

    

Ron still couldn’t believe he’d managed it.  He certainly hadn’t expected that he could _actually_ make her feel better.  Hell, comforting a girl had never worked before, _especially_ not with Hermione.  All he ever managed to do was make matters worse.

 

Yet, now she was curled up in his arms.  He hoped she actually wanted to be there.  Was she just being polite to spare his feelings?  ‘Cause that would be a very ‘Hermione’ thing to do.  Ron snuck a glance at her face.  She had stopped crying, but hadn’t moved from where she was cuddled up against him.  No, he was doing it right for _once_.  He was sure of it.

 

He had tried to console a girl and it had worked and it wasn’t some stupid simpering girl either.  This was the ever-brilliant, ever-controlled, always-knows-what-to-do Hermione Granger.  And right now, what she needed was him.  He felt proud, humbled, and profoundly terrified all at once.

 

“Ron?”  Hermione asked in an uncharacteristically small voice.

 

“Hmm?”  he answered absently as he was pulled from his thoughts.  This was the first either of them had spoken since the embrace began.

 

“I’m really worried about Harry.”

 

Shite.  Now, she wanted to talk.  Holding her was one thing.  Once he had managed to do it, it was hard to screw it up.  But talking?  There was no way he was going to be able to _say_ the right thing.  Goddamn it, she was going to be back to yelling and blubbering at any moment.

 

Ron needed to think.  Crap, what should he say?  He was rubbish at this.  Finally, he decided on agreeing with her.  That was always safe.  “Yeah, so am I.”  Ron swallowed, as he waited for her response.  He was afraid she would see right through him, not that it wasn’t true.  He _was_ worried.  He wasn’t _obsessed_ like Hermione, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t worried.

 

“He’s been through so much,” she continued and Ron relaxed a bit, his first comment not having seemed to cause any real damage.  “To never know your parents, to be raised by monsters, and _then_ to watch your Godfather die.  To watch him die because you had been tricked, because he was trying to save _you_.  It must be killing Harry.”  

 

Hermione closed her eyes with a soft whimper.  Ron had the urge to brush her hair off her face.  He even lifted his hand to do so.  Then he noticed what he was doing and quickly dropped it.  It took a full minute to realize Hermione wanted a response.  Bloody hell.  What could he say that was comforting when she was right about all of it?

 

“Harry will be all right,” he said softly.  Hermione pulled away and looked up at him, hopeful and expectant.  Shite.  Shite.  Shite.  Ron swallowed.  “He’s strong.  Otherwise … um, how could he have got this far?”

 

Again Ron froze, fearing the response.  Hermione looked down.  His heart skipped a beat.  She nodded, “That’s true.”  

 

It was?  He had said something true, something right?  As in _he_ was right?

 

“But—”

 

But.  Of course, there was a “but.”

 

“What if _this_ is one time too many?  What if it’s the last thing he can take?  What if he pulls away again and this time we can’t get him to come back to us?  You saw what happened after Cedric died, after he was left alone last summer, after your dad was attacked.  This is going to be worse.  What if we lose him forever?  I know it’s selfish, but I don’t want to lose him,” she broke off with another sob.

 

Ron pulled her back into his chest in instinctive desperation.  She was killing him.  He felt so helpless.  “We won’t lose him,” he told her, more confidently than he felt.  His voice was hoarse even to his own ears.

 

She pulled away again and looked him in the eyes, her jaw squared, her face streaked.  “How do you know, Ron?  How?”  she demanded.

 

This is what he was afraid of.  Now what?  He steeled himself.  “Because we won’t let him?”  Ron hoped she wouldn’t notice that it was a question.

 

She pulled away in earnest this time.  Bloody hell, he’d mucked it up now.  Hermione wiped her face dry and tried to push back her mass of hair.  It fell right back onto her face.  Finally, she nodded and Ron released a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding.

 

Hermione’s spine straightened, resembling the girl he knew so well.  She nodded with more confidence.  “No, we won’t.”

 

  1.   Well, that went better than expected.



 

 “We will … we’ll just have to _make_ him talk about it,” Hermione continued, speaking more and more rapidly.  “We’ll show him exactly how this isn’t his fault and how he shouldn’t feel guilty.  You know what we should do?  We should make a list.  Two lists actually.  One with all the things we need to tell him and another with strategies of how we’ll make him listen.”  Hermione leaned over, reaching for parchment in the bed stand.  She had barely moved when she cried out in pain.  She doubled over gasping and clutching her side.

 

Ron watched her with growing dread.  “Damn it, Hermione.  Are you all right?”  He went to reach for her, but had already forgotten how.

 

“Don’t swear,” she reprimanded between gasps.

 

That made Ron laugh and it jerked him out of his stillness.  He carefully touched her arms and brought her back to lean against the headboard.  As she struggled to control her breathing, Ron asked, “All right?”

 

Hermione shook her head violently.  “No, I am not all right.  I am sick of being an … an _invalid_.  I need to go and find Harry.”

 

“No, you don’t,” he said calmly.  “This thing with Sirius can’t be fixed.  Harry’s going to be grieving for a really long time.  He doesn’t need you killing yourself in order to force him to talk about it.  This isn’t an exam.  You can’t draw up a schedule for him and nag him until he’s over it.”

 

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Ron panicked.  Now, he’d gone and done it.

 

“I know that!”  Hermione cried.

 

As predicted, Ron was making matters worse.

 

“I just need to _do_ something.”  

 

And of course, she burst out into tears again.  He made her cry.  Again.  Way to go, Ron.  He felt an intense need to run from his own incompetence.  But she needed him more, so he took a deep breath.  What was he supposed to say now?  

 

“Hermione …” he started carefully and then he gave up.  Words tumbled unbidden from his lips, “I dunno, Hermione … I dunno what to say.  It’s all overwhelming and horrible.  I mean no one I’ve ever _really_ known has died before and I dunno what to do.  All I know is I’m sorry I made you cry again.  I’m just a giant prat.”

 

Ron reveled in his own incompetence.  Why would a girl like her even be friends with an idiot like him?  He could barely string two cohesive words together.

 

Hermione looked up at him with watery eyes.  “Oh Ron!”  She launched herself at him.  In shock, he could do nothing but catch her and hold her gratefully.  “I just feel so awful.  I can’t stand it,” she cried.

 

Ron wished she wouldn’t say things like that.  All he could do was nod into her shoulder and try not to humiliate himself by bursting out into tears.

 

“It’s all my fault,” Hermione continued.

 

He pulled away roughly and looked in her eyes.  “How can you say that?”

 

“I knew it was a trap.  I should have—”

 

“Boll—codswallop,” Ron interrupted.  “You were suspicious, we all were, but no one _knew_ what was going on.  We just, just …” his voice caught, “wanted to help Sirius.”  Why did his throat have to be so thick?

 

“But I should have—”

 

“You should have what?  Seen the future?  You know what, I shouldn’t have been walking around like a giddy bumbling idiot, breaking tanks with brains, and making matters worse.  All while my best friends _and_ my sister were in mortal peril.  If any one should feel guilty here, it’s me.”  He closed his eyes with the shame of it.

 

Ron felt her touch his face.  “That wasn’t your fault,” she whispered

 

Ron scoffed, refusing to open his eyes.  “That’s only because I’m not important enough for it to be my fault.  I’m too extraneous to do anything but get in the way—”

 

“Stop it!”  Hermione cut him off harshly, punctuating it with a slap to his shoulder.  He winced as she hit a burn.  “Sorry,” she muttered.

 

Ron ignored her and the pain, shaking his head.  Didn’t she see what a royal screw up he was?  “If I was better at Defense, if I took school more seriously I could have blocked the curse.  If I was stronger, I could have fought it off.  If I wasn’t so thick and weak—”

 

“I said stop it!”  She grabbed his face.  “Open your eyes this instant.”

 

Hermione could be such a bully.  Ron opened his eyes.  Her face was so close to his.  He didn’t deserve how good it felt to have her thumbs brushing away his pathetic tears as she cradled his face in her soft hands.

 

“I don’t ever want to hear you say that again.  They were just stronger than us.”  Her voice was almost seemed too strangled to continue.  “And you _are_ important.  You’re important to me.”  Shite, now she was crying again.  They were both pathetic.  Ron pulled her to him and rocked her.  “You are not stupid!”  she yelled into his shoulder.

 

He didn’t answer her.  As much as Ron appreciated Hermione’s words, he knew they weren’t true.

 

  


 

                                                            * * * * *

 

 

  


Ginny surveyed the people around her warily.  Her arms tightly crossed, she sat stiffly at Hagrid’s oversized table.

 

Hagrid was anxious and distracted.  He had the look he always had when he had a secret and no idea how he was going to keep it.  He was doing his best to avoid eye contact with Harry and Ginny, bustling around the cabin, gathering a make-shift meal.  Well, he was doing the large man’s equivalent of bustling, moving as fast as his bulk would allow.

 

Harry sat next to her, uncomfortably close.  He was doing an impressive display of his usual noble-hero shite, focused entirely on any threat this Adrianna would hold to Ginny.  Typical Harry.  

 

But that was the only thing typical about Harry’s behavior.  Even now, with his defensive stance, Harry’s expression was frighteningly blank.  Ginny wondered if he even cared about what happened to himself anymore.  She worried that if it weren’t for Ginny’s presence he’d accept this strange witch out of shear exhaustion and desperation.

 

That was where Ginny came in.  It was her job to figure out exactly what Adrianna wanted.  She gritted her teeth and leveled a steady gaze on the strange woman, determined to control her emotions and not let woman know what she was really thinking and feeling.  And what she was feeling was confusion.  Confusion and panic.  

 

Not because she sensed danger … but because she didn’t.  Actually, she was a bit alarmed that she couldn’t get a clear hold on Adrianna and her motives.  Ginny considered herself a fairly perceptive person.  She could size people up relatively quickly.  Usually.  This time, she just wasn’t sure.  What was clear was the woman was arrogant, rude, and annoying, which didn’t necessarily equate to evil.

 

Instinctively, Ginny felt … well, her instincts didn’t fail her often, but when they did it was not good.  And right now, Ginny was not inclined to follow her instincts.  There was something about this woman that drew her in, made her feel like lowering her defenses.  

 

It must be magic, Empath magic most likely.  Yet, there was something familiar about the witch, the shape of her jaw, the curve of her mouth.  It didn’t matter, Ginny was determined _not_ to trust this woman and not to allow her to see her ambivalence.

 

A soft chuckle broke the silence.  “Ginny?”  the woman asked.  “You _do_ get the concept of an Empath, right?”

 

Ginny’s carefully composed expression fell away as the words sunk in.  Shite.

 

Adrianna smiled Hagrid placed thick slices of meat pie and Dandelion juice in front of them.  “Thanks.  Eat,” she commanded Harry.

 

To his credit, Harry didn’t move a muscle.  The woman lifted a fork full of pie to her lips.  Ginny got a perverse sense of pleasure from the look of horror and disgust that came over her face.  Adrianna turned a questioning look to Harry, who merely gave a half-hearted shrug.

 

Ginny watched with amusement as Adrianna frowned and looked around the room in what looked like a desperate attempt to get rid of the offending food.  Catching Hagrid with his back turned, the witch flicked her wrist toward the back of the room, muttering something under her breath.  A hanging cauldron clattered to the floor next to Fang, sending the dog into a rage of loud barking.

 

Ginny’s stomach clenched as her fear of the witch increased.  Her eyes were immediately drawn to Adrianna’s face.  Shite, now she knew that Ginny was afraid of her.

 

 “Fang, ya mangy mutt,” Hagrid said, ambling over to him.  “What’s got into ya, boy?”

 

As soon as the large man was distracted, Adrianna pulled out her wand.  It immediately caught Ginny’s attention.  The wand was an odd champagne color with intricate carvings.

 

Adrianna leaned over the table; clearly intent on performing a spell on their food … like that would make them _more_ likely to eat it.  But as she bent over, the witch froze, listening.  There was a long moment where she appeared to be concentrating, listening to something at a great distance.

 

“How would Dumbledore know someone was on the grounds if they walked?”  she asked, astonished.  “He couldn’t have spying devises along the entire perimeter.”

 

There was a knock on the door.  Ginny’s heart rate further accelerated.  Hagrid was looking around the room like frightened animal, not sure which way to turn.  Though, to Ginny, it was Harry’s _lack_ of response that was most concerning.

 

There was another knock and Hagrid sprung into action, moving to the door so quickly that the floor shook.  He yanked the door open and breathed a sigh of relief.  “Professors,” he greeted.

 

Professor Dumbledore stepped into the cabin.  “Hagrid, we heard you had a visitor,” he greeted conversationally, a relaxed smile on his face.  

 

Hagrid stepped back, allowing Professor McGonagall to enter as well.  She wore a scowl that made Ginny shudder.  Dumbledore approached Adrianna, considering her carefully.  She rose to her feet warily, meeting the headmaster with a strange intensity.  Did Dumbledore know that she was an Empath?

 

Ginny watched the quiet standoff, waiting for the woman to explain herself, but it was Hagrid who couldn’t handle the silence.  He burst out, “She’s an Empath, Professors.  Says she ‘ad a vision and now she’s ‘ere ter protect Harry.”  There was a long beat where the teachers stared at Hagrid, McGonagall’s eyes wide.  The large man sputtered, more softly.  “Says ‘er name is Adrianna.”

 

McGonagall gasped.  Her hand flew to her mouth, her eyes to Adrianna’s.  “That is _not_ possible.”

 

Dumbledore remained calm, carefully perusing over Harry and the stranger in turn.  Finally, he met Adrianna’s steady gaze.  “We had presumed you were dead,” he told her.

 

Adrianna leaned back, smiling a bitter smile.  “And why would you _presume_ that?”

 

Dumbledore, ever unruffled, responded, “You disappeared from the magical world.  No one could make contact.”

 

She gave a short huff of a laugh.  “And that equals dead?”  Adrianna shook her head in annoyance.  “You mustn’t have tried very hard.  I didn’t disappear.”

 

 McGonagall broke in with a bark.  “This is absurd.  She isn’t an Empath and she certainly isn’t … _her_ , Albus.  It is preposterous.”

 

 “I beg your pardon,” Adrianna snapped, her ire rising.  “I most certainly _am_ an Empath and … _her_.”

 

Ginny watched the exchange with growing dread.  If she wasn’t an Empath than what was she?

 

The Scottish professor was furious.  She advanced on the younger woman, merely tilted her chin up to keep the older woman’s gaze.  Adrianna’s only sign of distress was the defensive manner in which she crossed her arms.  

 

“Empaths do _not_ live past the age of twenty-four.   _She_ would have been twenty-eight.  Therefore _she_ is dead,” the professor reasoned heatedly.

 

Adrianna’s eyes narrowed.  “I am well aware of being four years past my expiration date, but that only means I’m the oldest Empath in five centuries.   _Not_ that I’m dead.”

 

“It’s impossible,” McGonagall said even more forcefully.  “ _She_ must be dead, without magical training—”

 

There was a loud bang on the table, making Ginny jump.  Her eyes jerked over as Harry stood.  “Would someone please tell us who _she_ is?”  he demanded.

 

Ginny could almost feel Harry’s fury.  It was wonderfully comforting.  At least he was feeling something.

 

McGonagall’s cool gaze went to Harry.  “Mr.  Potter, I think it would be best if you stepped outside for a moment—”

 

Adrianna laughed incredulously, crossing her arms tighter.  “Harry stays.”

 

“How dare you ...”  McGonagall snapped

 

“On the contrary,” the woman said coolly.  “I think you’ll all agree that if I am who I say I am, then I have more of a right than anybody.”

 

Ginny almost laughed.  She hadn’t said _who_ she was.   

 

McGonagall drew herself up straighter.  Ginny looked over to Dumbledore who seemed content to stand back and watch the action unfold.  “You have a long way to go before you prove you are anyone, young lady,” McGonagall said sternly.

 

Adrianna relaxed.  “That’s fine.  I’ll prove it then.”  She sat back in her chair.

 

“Wait—” Harry angrily began.

 

Adrianna’s gaze went directly to his.  She shook her head.  “In a moment, Harry.  Let me do this first.”

 

Harry sat back sullenly, but without protest.  Ginny began to worry over the influence this woman might be able to exert on her _very_ vulnerable friend.

 

Adrianna turned to the professors.  “Are you going to join us?”  she asked, gesturing to the chairs.

 

“Yes, yes,” Hagrid said, suddenly realizing his lapse as a host.  “Please sit.  Can I get you a drink?”

 

Dumbledore graciously shook his head and pulled out a chair for Professor McGonagall.  Sitting himself, he folded his hands calmly and fixed his gaze on Adrianna.  “You understand, my dear, that we were under the impression that the Empath in question disappeared into Muggle America sixteen years ago and received no magical training.”

 

Adrianna rolled her eyes.  “I assure you, I have received plenty of magical training.  Just recently, I spent two full years in Japan in almost _continual_ magical training … but regardless, you require proof?”

 

McGonagall’s eyes narrowed as she crossed her arms tightly.  “If you can manage.”

 

Ginny sat back in frustration, now she was going to be forced to listen to the proof of something, when they no idea what that something was.

 

“The Empath in question was the first and only Empath born in the last century.  Is that correct, Professor?”  Adrianna was addressing McGonagall directly.  The professor nodded tersely.

 

Adrianna leaned across the table and concentrating on McGonagall with a frightening intensity.  “Right now, you are feeling guilt and a slight bit of panic.  You are worried that I am telling the truth and maybe that means you should have tried harder to find me or at least have told Harry about me.  Maybe, just maybe, Harry would have been better off living in America with us, instead of with his mother’s awful relatives.  Your intensions were good, but now you doubt yourself.”

 

Ginny swallowed, eyes flying to Harry.  Why would he live in America?

 

“Now, you are feeling intense anger, which you are desperately trying to keep in the forefront.  You want to believe that I am lying.”  Adrianna leaned still closer, reaching out and pressing her fingers to the back of the professor’s hand.  McGonagall was frozen in shock.  

 

The Empath smiled.  “You are going through all your knowledge of Empaths.  You are thinking of all the girls in the Empath line.  How most of them never survived infancy.  How others went crazy by puberty.  You are remembering how all Empaths have been described as quiet, distracted, soft-tempered girls.  You’re thinking that I’m obviously nothing like that.  

 

“There is confusion and desperation.  You’re remembering your Grandmam, Emma McGonagall.  She used to hold you in her lap when you were a small child.  There’s the love and sadness … you miss her.  She used to tell you about Bronwyn McCabe.  She was an Empath who died in 1808 at the age of 16.  After mediating peace among her clans she died of sheer exhaustion.  Of course, the fighting restarted soon after she died and her line was destroyed.

 

“Do you believe I’m an Empath now, Professor?”  Adrianna asked mockingly, withdrawing her hand and sitting back.

 

“Scotch anyone?”  Hagrid asked nervously, placing drinks in front of the two Professors.

 

There were long moments of tense silence.  Finally, Dumbledore addressed Adrianna quietly.  “The Empathy is truly remarkable.”  Adrianna merely shrugged and he continued, “Do you want to tell Harry or should I …”

 

McGonagall cut him off.  “Albus, you can’t possibly believe her?  It’s not possible.”  She looked at him entreatingly.

 

“Minerva, look at her.  She’s the image of Isabella.”

 

Adrianna smiled.  “You believe me too, Professor.  Whether you admit it or not.”

 

McGonagall looked like she had no intention of admitting anything.  “Empaths don’t read thoughts,” she snapped.

 

The Empath’s eyes flared with challenge.  “They don’t live to twenty-eight either.”

 

Harry cleared his throat loudly.  “I believe someone was going to tell me what the bloody hell is going on here.”

 

Ginny raised her brow at the swearing in front of the teachers.  No one reprimanded him.  She supposed that, above everything, was a testament to the gravity of the situation.  Ginny had the distinct impression that the answers were going to throw Harry into a place he really couldn’t handle right now.

 

“Actually,” Adrianna responded looking at Harry then Dumbledore.  “Given the situation.  I think it would be better to _show_ Harry.  Professor Dumbledore, I’m sure you have the necessary equipment in your office.  If we could trouble you …”

 

He nodded.  “Of course.”  He managed to remain completely unflustered, while McGonagall was white as a ghost.  Dumbledore rose, helping her to her feet.  “Mr.  Potter, Miss Weasley, if you’d …”

 

Adrianna’s eyes flew to Ginny.  “Weasley?  Your name is Weasley?”  she asked incredulously.

 

Ginny swallowed, nodding warily.

 

The witch gave another bitter laugh, closing her eyes and shaking her head.  When she opened her eyes she asked, “And I suppose the other redhead is a Weasley, too.”

 

Ginny didn’t answer but she supposed her expression said enough.

 

“Why?”  Harry asked, sharing a worried glance with Ginny.

 

Adrianna just shook her head.  “I just knew a Weasley a long time ago.”  She paused and Ginny thought that they wouldn’t get anymore information out of her, but then she continued with a sardonic half smile, “It seems Fate is in rare form tonight.”

  


 

                                                            * * * * *

  
  
  
  



	3. Reliving the Past

Ginny stood at the front entrance of Hogwarts Castle and watched Harry walk down the hallway with Adrianna and Professor Dumbledore.  They were going to show Harry _the_ secret.  They had just spent over an hour dancing round the secret identity of this Adrianna woman and now they were going to reveal it.  To Harry.  Just to Harry.  

 

It was probably pretty personal and vital and bloody _earth_ _shattering_.  Which, of course, meant it was far too important to show to little Ginny Weasley, who needed to be coddled and protected and most importantly, left out.  Now, more than ever, it _really_ pissed her off.

  

Ginny wondered why they had even let her see anything.  Maybe she was so _unimportant_ that it wasn’t worth the effort to make her leave.  She wondered if she would have been sitting in Hagrid’s cottage with Harry and his new _protector_ if Ron and Hermione weren’t in the hospital wing.  Probably not.  She was simply back-up, second fiddle, the one everyone went to when no one better was around.

 

She sighed as Harry’s figure disappeared from view.  For someone who had supposedly “gotten over” her school-girl crush, Ginny sure spent a lot of time staring at Harry Potter.  And thinking about Harry Potter.  And obsessing about Harry Potter.

 

Well, Ginny told herself, the first step in _not_ obsessing about Harry Potter was to stop staring at the spot where he disappeared around the corner.  Any time now.  Just turn around.

  

The one problem with that was Harry _needed_ her.  He was on the brink of insanity as it was, and as much as Ginny trusted Professor Dumbledore to keep him physically safe, it was clear that his emotional stability always came second to the Headmaster.  Last summer was an excellent example of that.

 

Not that there was anything Ginny could do about it now.  She couldn’t exactly barge into Dumbledore’s office, could she?  She turned, mildly depressed now, and headed toward the Great Hall.  

 

The Hall was emptying, dinner almost over.  Thankfully, the platters hadn’t been cleared yet.  Ginny took a seat at an empty area at the Gryffindor table and filled a plate with Shepherd’s pie.  God, she was starving.  She hadn’t eaten since breakfast.

 

“Hey, Ginny.”

 

She looked up, still chewing, to see Dean Thomas straddle the bench next to her.  He was smiling at her in an adorable kind of way.  Ginny did her best to smile back.  It was time to pretend nothing important had happened today.  If one pretended convincingly enough, then eventually one convinced even oneself.  

 

Ginny was a consummate actress.  She had to be to survive six older brothers and one over protective mother.  It shouldn’t be too hard to pretend everything was fine.  It was all about knowing her part.

 

For example, she had _not_ spent a good portion of the day crying in the girl’s loo.  She was _not_ grieving an escaped convict.  She was not sick with worry over a boy who she _did not_ fancy.  And she did not feel any of the following things: left-out, abandoned, awkward, unattractive, or pathetic.  It was rather simple, really.  She had spent the day relaxing with her brother, nothing special.

 

“Hey Dean,” she said brightly, already in character.  “Enjoy the sun today?”

 

“Yeah, it was great.  Would have been a lot better if you had been around, though,” Dean said in a shy, charming way.  He looked down and back up at her through his eye lashes.  “There was a definite shortage of pretty girls.”

 

Ginny laughed out loud and flushed what was undoubtedly that horrifying famous Weasley red.  She didn’t believe a word of it, but it was awfully nice to hear.  Especially after a day like today.  She felt herself relax for the first time in days.

 

“I’m sure you persevered just fine,” she teased.  Ginny took another bite of pie, not too large.  She didn’t want Dean to think she wasn’t lady-like.  She found herself hoping he would stay and chat for a while.  It was a lovely distraction.

 

“Oh, of course, that’s my family’s crest,” Dean responded cheekily.  “Perseverance at all costs.”  He put his hand over his heart dramatically.

 

Ginny giggled, feeling lighter.  “Doesn’t your family sell books?”

 

He looked down again, biting his full lower lip.  He really was cute.  She’d never noticed before.  “Well, some of those books are really long.  They require a lot of tenacity,” Dean said with mock seriousness.

 

Warmth was starting to spread through Ginny’s body at the intensity of his gaze.  She loved how it felt to have a bloke’s attention focused entirely on her.  Michael had been like that when they had first started dating, before …

 

Her eyes unconsciously went to the Ravenclaw table where Michael and Cho’s heads were bent close together, whispering.  The prick.  Mere hours after their confrontation and apparently they were completely over it.  His little tart had forgiven him easily enough.  Ginny felt that horrible pang of rejection.  It felt all too familiar.  What the hell was so great about Cho Chang anyway?

 

“So …” Dean started, clearing his throat.  He brought her out of her reverie and Ginny put on what she hoped was a credible smile.  However, the contemplative look on Dean’s face proved that it was too late.  He had caught the direction her thoughts had wandered.  Ginny reprimanded her own carelessness.  “I haven’t seen you with Michael Corner much lately,” Dean commented with careful lightness.

 

“Yeah,” she said quietly, pathetically.  She mentally shook herself.  Ginny knew she was stronger than this.  “I reckon his ego couldn’t compete with the Gryffindor glory,” she joked, her smile her shield.

 

Dean grinned back, taking the bait.  “Have pity on the bloke.  It must be hard having a girlfriend who is better than him in Quidditch … _and_ everything else.”

 

Ginny savored the compliment, and this time her smile was genuine.  “I’m not so great.  I was just filling in at the game.  Harry’s our real star seeker,” she protested.

 

Dean laughed incredulously.  “Come on, you were _brilliant_.”

 

Ginny leaned her head on her hand, studying him.  “Too brilliant I suppose.”  She was playfully sarcastic as she gestured her head toward Michael.  This time, when she looked at him the pain was less.  Flirting was a wonderful thing.

 

“His loss,” Dean’s said huskily, his voice dropping an octave.  “I’m sure there are plenty of men out there man enough to handle your brilliance.”

 

Unbidden, an image formed in her head.  Harry, battered and bruised, standing defiantly, wand raised as he faced down a hoard of Death Eaters.  Great, that was exactly what Ginny needed right now.

 

Concentrating on Dean, she laid on the charm, “And where do I find these extraordinary men?”

 

His voice dropped to a conspiratory whisper and he leaned in close to her.  “Well, the first step is to stop looking outside of Gryffindor.”

 

Her stomach turned over.  She was _not_ going to think about _bloody_ Harry Potter.  “I’ll remember that.  Thanks.”

 

“Oi!  Dean, you coming?”  Seamus yelled from the entrance way.

 

Dean glared at him from over his shoulder and called back, “Keep your knickers on, mate.”  He turned back to Ginny, suddenly shy again, gnawing on that full lip.  “You coming back to the common room?”

 

“I …” Ginny started.  She looked back at her food, but it had disappeared, along with the rest of the dinner platters.  Dinner was over.  Her stomach gurgled in protest.

 

“I, er, promised Ron and Hermione I’d stop off one more time before bed.  Need to make sure they don’t kill each other, you know.”  She wasn’t sure why she even said that.  Certainly spending time with Dean was the healthiest option right now.  But Harry needed her, the ruddy prat.

 

Dean winced dramatically.  “Don’t we all know it?  Well …”  He got up and looked at her with somewhat less confidence.  “We’ll probably be up late with the whole nothing-to-do-tomorrow thing.  Maybe I’ll see you later, then?”

 

“I’d like that,” Ginny responded genuinely.

 

He smiled hugely and ran off to join Seamus, who laughed at him and slapped him on the back.

 

Well then, Ginny thought.  Dean Thomas.  Fancy that.  Seemed like a nice enough bloke.  Might be just the thing to help with a speedy recovery from Michael Corner.   _And_ prevent a Harry Potter relapse.

 

Ginny took her time getting up from the table and leaving the Great Hall.  She’d have to ask Hermione about Dean.  When Ron was _not_ in the room.  Of course, that might be a bit difficult.  Not only were they currently roommates, but recently Ron was sending her more and more of those “I’m not letting you out of my sight” looks.  He was really mental about her being cursed at the Department of Mysteries.  Ginny could still see the look on his face when he had been revived and seen her there …

 

She shivered at the memory.  It was not a look you _ever_ wanted to see on your brother’s face.  Well, maybe something good would come out of it.  Maybe Ron would finally get a clue about how he really felt about his best friend.  Ginny rolled her eyes.  Knowing her brother, it wasn’t bloody likely.

 

As for now, Ginny had to think of a way to help Harry.  She was pitiful, but she was all he had right now.  She left the Great Hall and headed toward the library.  Just one quick stop before she headed to the hospital wing.  Taking a page from Hermione’s book, when all else failed, it was time for a little research.

 

  


                                                            * * * * * *

 

  


Harry looked around Dumbledore’s office.  The Headmaster seemed to have repaired all the damage he had created three days ago without a problem.  Somehow this made Harry angry.

 

He closed his eyes in an attempt to get a grasp of his emotions, but with everything that was going on, it just wasn’t possible.  Frowning, Harry turned to Adrianna and Dumbledore as the Professor carried over his Pensieve.  

 

“Let me get this straight,” Harry said with a sigh, feeling tired.  “You’re going to show me something in there that will prove who Adrianna is.”

 

“Exactly so,” Dumbledore said lightly.  If he had just a touch more cheerfulness Harry didn’t think he’d be able to restrain himself from exploding.  Harry crossed his arms tightly as Dumbledore used his wand to pull a thin silver strand from his head and place it into the Pensieve.

 

“What I don’t understand,” Harry gripped, “is why we aren’t using one of Adrianna’s memories.  Doesn’t that make more sense?”  

 

He was apprehensive about this whole process.  Last time he went into a Pensieve it wasn’t what he would call a pleasant experience.  Harry was glad that Ginny wasn’t going to be subjected to it.

 

Adrianna shook her head.  She didn’t look any more enthusiastic than Harry felt.  “The Pensieve doesn’t work on me.  It’s an Empath thing, interferes with all sorts of mind reading type magic.  It’s all the extraneous thoughts and emotions coming from other people, causes too much interference.”

 

The Pensieve swirled dizzily.  Dumbledore cleared his throat.  “Are we ready, then?”  

 

 _Not really_ , Harry wanted to say, but when they both looked to him, he took a deep breath and nodded.  Dumbledore entered the Pensieve first, followed by Harry and Adrianna.  They disappeared into the black swirling depths.

 

Suddenly, Harry found himself in a parlor.  At first glance, it seemed to be a small London Flat.  There was a wizard lying limp in the middle of the room.  Over him stood an adult, but decidedly human, Voldemort.  The dark figure looked up from his victim to see a younger Dumbledore in front of him.  Voldemort smiled at his long-time rival and, _Crack_ , he was gone.

 

Adrianna gasped and turned to the present day Dumbledore, horror plain on her face.  “This is the memory you chose?”  She demanded angrily.  “This isn’t the only time we met.  You could have chosen a different memory.”  

 

Harry’s apprehension grew to new heights at her reaction, but his eyes were pulled to the man on the floor.  For a horrifying moment Harry thought it was his father.  His heart froze in his chest as he walked, trancelike, to get a closer look.  It wasn’t who he feared it was, though the resemblance was striking.  This man was older.  Harry’s father hadn’t lived long enough to reach middle age.

 

Younger Dumbledore knelt over the fallen man and checked his pulse.  The Professor’s head drooped as he closed his eyes, shaking his head.  

 

Harry frowned, as if it weren’t obvious that the man was dead, with his frozen hazel eyes … Harry’s eyes snapped to the strange woman who had entered his life so abruptly today.  There was an angry set to her jaw and her fingers clawed at her upper arms.  She avoided looking at the fallen man.  He stared at her until she finally met his gaze.

 

Harry’s blood turned to ice as he looked into her hazel eyes.  “What is this?  Who is this man?” he demanded.  He was afraid of the answer.

 

Instead of answering, Adrianna turned her accusing gaze to Dumbledore, but this time it wasn’t he that Harry wanted an answer from.  His voice rose.  “Who _is_ this man?”

 

Adrianna’s eyes snapped back to his.  “The dead man’s my father,” she bit back, her voice dripping with bile.  “The day my father died is the memory the professor chose, but since we’re here you should pay attention.  It’s about to get even more _instructive_.”

 

 _Crack.  Crack_.

 

Harry stumbled back as two wizards appeared in the room.  This time one of them was clearly his father.

 

James fell to his knee beside the dead man, shaking him.  “Julian!  No!  Julian!”  His voice was full of emotion.  “God no!”  The resemblance was even more striking than Harry had originally thought.  He was beginning to feel the first stirrings of panic.  What did it all mean?

 

“We saw the Dark Mark,” the man who had Apparated in with James said quietly.

 

The other Dumbledore nodded, standing up and stepping back from the body.  “It was Voldemort himself.  He Disapparated as soon as I arrived.”

 

Harry looked pleadingly at Adrianna, willing her to give him a straight answer.  “Who is _he_?” he whispered harshly.  “Who are _you_?”

 

Meeting his gaze, Adrianna’s mask of anger fell a way.  She seemed uncertain.  The scene around them continued, but Harry refused to watch.  Somehow, he thought he would see something even more important in her eyes.

 

“Where’s Adrianna?  She was here.”  At the sound of his father’s voice Harry’s eyes whipped over.  Oh God, what was going on here?  What the hell was this?

 

“I haven’t seen her,” young Dumbledore said to James.

 

Harry’s eyes stayed on Adrianna.  She was beginning to look less and less like a stranger.  “Tell me,” he demanded.  “How did you know my father?”  

 

Adrianna closed her eyes tightly against Harry’s request, eventually she burst out, in a surprisingly loud voice.  “He’s my uncle.”

 

Harry felt like he’d been punched in the gut, even though he had suspected, known even.  He closed his eyes as he took in the ramifications.  The sounds around him dulled.  He had family.  It made no sense.  How could he have magical family?

 

When Harry could make out voices again he heard his father screaming.  “Adrianna!  Adrianna!”

 

There was a muffled sound from the kitchen, then a stifled yell.  James ran to the kitchen.  Harry followed, automatically, without thinking, but just as he crossed the threshold he stopped and looked back.  Adrianna hadn’t moved, just stared ahead blankly.  James was frantically opening up cabinet doors, calling her name.

 

Harry was torn, not sure where to place his concentration.  A small, choked sob came from the kitchen and Harry’s attention was brought fully into the kitchen.

 

James tried to wrench open the cabinet over the sink, but it wouldn’t budge.  “Frank!  I need Julian’s wand,” he yelled out, while continuing to put all his strength into pulling at the door.  “He must have put a locking charm on it.”

 

From behind Harry, younger Dumbledore threw a spell.  The cabinet door disappeared.  Curled up in a ball, in a space much too small for her to fit into without the aid of magic was a girl.  A girl with hazel eyes and messy black hair.  A girl that was clearly the younger version of the woman that Harry had met today.

 

Tears rolled down her drenched cheeks.  She choked out, “Uncle James,” and slid down into his out stretched arms.

 

James held the girl tightly to him, rocking her.  “Annie, Annie, it’s all right.  You’re safe now.”

 

“No,” she whimpered.  “Daddy.”  

 

The girl pulled away from him violently, causing James to loose his grip.  He let her down reluctantly, but called out behind her, “Anna, don’t …” She scrambled away, pushing around Dumbledore and into the parlor.  

 

Harry tried to hurry after her, but found he couldn’t get himself to move at any great speed.  His legs were lead.  He slowly followed James into the parlor.  The young girl knelt over her father, her head buried in his chest.  Quiet tears soaked the dead man’s shirt.

 

As if in water, Harry turned and looked at his grown … cousin?  How was it possible that he had family?  Was there no end to the secrets kept from him?  “How old were you?”  he found himself asking.  One of many questions he wanted to ask.

 

Adrianna slowly smiled, a small grim smile.  “Twelve.”

 

Harry nodded, somewhat surprised, the little girl looked younger than that, but they were slight in their family.  He looked from his own father to his dead uncle.  At least Adrianna got to know her father.  Then Harry looked at the weeping child and felt ashamed at the thought.

 

Harry turned to see the older Dumbledore watching the scene serenely and felt rage fill him.  Why _would_ he choose this memory?  All this time, why hadn’t he told him about Adrianna?  Harry used to trust this man so implicitly, if he couldn’t anymore … who was left to trust?

 

“He’s gone,” the girl sobbed, looking up at up at Harry’s father.  James pulled the small girl away from the body and gathered her to him.  Harry watched his father cry in the girl’s shoulder and swallowed strangled cry of his own.

 

Harry looked between the two Adriannas and turned angrily to Dumbledore.  “Why …?  I want to leave, _now_ ,” he demanded through clenched teeth.

 

“No, Harry,” his cousin said quietly, her irritated frown contradicting her words.  “We’ve seen this much, we need to see the rest.”  She seemed to almost choke on the words.  “He’s showing us this for a reason.”

 

Bugger the reason, was all Harry could think.  He wanted to punch something, someone maybe.

 

The door to the flat burst open and a woman, older than James, burst through.  “No!  No!”  she screamed.  She threw herself next to the dead man, shaking him violently. “Julian.  Wake.  Up,” she commanded.

 

“He’s gone, Mommy.”

 

The woman barely looked at her daughter, shaking her head.  “No!”  She closed her eyes.  “No!  Julian!”  She doubled over with a stricken cry.

 

So, this was Harry’s aunt.  Was she dead, now, as well?  She was a kind looking woman with short, curling brown hair.  Was she out there somewhere?  Were there other family members Harry didn’t know of?  He looked over at the older Adrianna, whose expression of blatant irritation covered a sheen of … he wasn’t sure.  Instinctively, Harry moved closer to her.

 

On the floor, the dead man’s wife took a shuddering breath and sat up.  She was deadly calm when she demanded, “Who did this?”

 

There was silence for a long moment.  It was Dumbledore who finally spoke.  “Voldemort.”

 

The woman nodded, absently.  “Why?” she asked through gritted teeth.  There was an ever longer silence.

 

James stepped forward.  “Kathy, we don’t know—”

 

“No,” the child Adrianna said, fully gaining her mother’s attention for the first time.  “I know.  He wanted me.”  Her mother shook her head, denying it.  

 

“Anna, no.  This had nothing to do with you,” James said gently, but Harry could tell he just wanted to believe it was true.

 

“No, it _is_ true.  I heard them arguing.  Voldemort was looking for me,” The girl said in a strange monotone that Harry found familiar.  He had heard it from himself often this last week.  “He knew I was an Empath.  He … he wanted my powers.”  She looked up at the younger Dumbledore.  “He thought he could use me.”  Kathy gasped and clutched her dead husband’s shirt.

 

“So, he killed him?”  Frank said, quietly, almost to himself.

 

Young Adrianna shrugged.  “He …Voldemort, he enjoyed it.  It was fun,” The girl looked down, away from the horrified looks.

 

Her mother wrenched herself to her feet and flew to the bedroom, slamming the door shut.  James followed, finding the door locked.  “Kathy, Kathy … open the door!”

 

“Give her a minute, James,” Dumbledore said, placing a hand on his shoulder.

 

“Can we go now?”  Harry asked the present-day Dumbledore, testily.  He didn’t want this intimate knowledge of the death of an uncle he never knew.

 

“Not just yet,” the headmaster answered calmly, further enraging Harry.  

 

“We need to get them to a safe house,” Frank was saying to the other Dumbledore.

 

Young Dumbledore nodded sagely.  “And a Secret Keeper …”

 

As they talked, the child Adrianna knelt stiffly next to her father.  “What will you do with the body?” she asked softly.

 

James’ voice quivered as he told her, “We’ll bury at home, next to our father and sisters.”

 

“Sisters?”  Harry gasped, looking at his cousin.

 

Adrianna answered quietly, “They all died in infancy.  My father used to say that they weren’t strong enough to withstand the Empath … _gift_ ,” she said the last word with harsh bitterness.  “Fate didn’t make them.”

 

“When will they take him away?” the twelve-year-old asked.

 

“Soon, child,” her Dumbledore answered.

 

The girl nodded in response.  “He keeps pictures in his pockets,” she said, almost to herself, as she reached into her father’s pockets and pulled out pictures.  She found her father’s wand.  “He never even took out his wand.”

 

“Anna, please …” James implored her.

 

She ignored him, if she even heard him.  Carefully, the girl placed the pictures and wand into the front pockets of her jumper.  “Mommy will want his rings and his wrist watch.”  She carefully removed them.  The older Adrianna looked down at the pure gold band on her own thumb, as her younger self removed it from her it from her father’s cold hands and carefully put it in her pockets.

 

The bedroom door opened.  “Adrianna, gather anything you need from in here.  We’re leaving.”  The girl looked at her mother with wide eyes.  “We have a flight back to America in less than two hours.  The driver will be here shortly.”  Kathy spoke quickly.  She rushed around the room gathering things, avoiding looking at the body.  “Everything in the bedroom is packed.”

 

“Kathy, you can’t go!”  James exclaimed.

 

She whirled on him.  “The hell I can’t James.  That monster just killed my husband.  I’m not going to let him get my baby girl.”

 

“We can protect her.”

 

She laughed cruelly.  “You can’t protect anyone.”

 

“Katherine,” Dumbledore approached her.  “We are the _only_ ones who can keep her safe now.”

 

 “No, _I_ can keep her safe … I can take her home to America and away from magic forever.  We’ll fade into obscurity,” she yelled.  “No magic, no danger!”

 

Young Dumbledore got visibly apprehensive, “You can’t take that girl away from magic, Katherine.  She _is_ magic.  It’s in her and it’s powerful.”

 

“She isn’t _magic_.”  Katherine bit out with disdain.  “She’s a little girl.  She’s my little girl and from now on,” she stated, placing cold hard emphasis on each word, “she’s just a Muggle girl.”

 

“You can’t make her into a Muggle,” James was screaming now, as well.  “She belongs with us.  She belongs with her family.”

 

“She has family.  Regular people family, in America.”

 

“Katherine, please, you can’t keep her from magic,” Dumbledore reasoned.

 

“We won’t let you!”  James roared.

 

“You don’t have a choice.”

 

“She’ll die without magic!”

 

“Ha!  Because your world is so safe!”

 

“Stop!” the girl’s yell cut through the argument.  “I’ll go, Mom.  We’ll go now.”  She nodded resolutely, as if she had known this was going to happen all along.  Her eyes were dry.  

 

A horn sounded.  “That’s our driver,” Kathy said calmly as she wiped the tears from her face.

 

“I’ll go with you to the airport, for protection,” Frank offered, already moving into the bedroom to retrieve their bags.  Kathy looked like she was going to argue, but then nodded.  She grabbed the rest of her bags and headed for the door.

 

“Kathy, please,” James implored.  “Please, don’t do this.”

 

His sister-in-law ignored him.  She knelt next to her dead husband and kissed his cold lips.  “Goodbye, my love.”  She stood.  “Goodbye, James.  Adrianna, it’s time to go.”  The child nodded, but lingered as her mother and Frank disappeared out the door.

 

“Anna,” James whispered.  

 

The little girl threw herself at him and hugged him tightly.  Again, she began to weep.  “I have this awful feeling I’m not going to see you again,” she told her uncle.  The words cut Harry deeply.  He had to close his eyes for a moment.  When was this going to end?

 

“Then don’t go,” James implored.  “We can convince your mother, once she calms down.  You belong at Hogwarts.  It’s the safest place I know.”

 

The girl shook her head.  “This isn’t my home.”  She pulled away.  “I love you, Uncle.  Tell Aunt Lily and Grandmother, and the baby when he comes.”  The child backed up toward the door.  “Bye, Daddy, bye, Professor.”  

 

“Adrianna, I will write to your mother.  We _will_ have you back,” Dumbledore answered her.

 

She shook her head, her lip trembled.  “Promise me you’ll take good care of my family, Uncle James and Aunt Lily and the baby.  Promise.”

 

“Of course, child.  We’ll take care of you, as well.”

 

“Bye,” she said softly, one last time, and ran from the room.

 

James stared at the empty doorway.  When he turned he had a look of rage on his face, a look Harry often saw in the mirror.  He picked up a vase and hurled it across the room.

 

“We leave now,” Adrianna stated.  Harry barely noticed the swirling and pulling.  Then, he was back in Dumbledore’s office.

  
  


                                                            * * * * *

  
  


It was really frustrating playing chess with Ron.  Hermione contemplated her best friend as she stared intently at the chess board that was hovering just over her out-stretched legs.  It wasn’t that he almost always won.  She enjoyed the challenge, the way playing with him made her think.  

 

It was amazing, his superb strategy and clever planning, but it always served to make one question abundantly plain.  If he had such a brilliant mind, why didn’t he use it?  And more importantly, the question that might explain it all.  Why didn’t he know it?

 

Hermione called out what she thought was a particularly well planned chess move, one that she had been contemplating for a full ten minutes.  Ron quickly countered it with an ingenious move of his own.  She shook her head.  It was truly incredible.

 

If only he’d just apply himself.  He could get good marks.  He could do _so_ many things.  Why was it he would rather just slide through life, copying her homework?  What did he spend his time on?  Quidditch and exploding snap.  Joking around with his dorm mates.  Tormenting her and Ginny.  Helping save the world.  

 

Well, sometimes he applied himself.  Hermione tried to hide the way the thought made her cheeks warm with pride.  Then Ron shifted on the bed and any hope of hiding her flush was gone.  In fact, she completely lost her train of thought.

 

Ron was lying on her bed in the opposite direction as herself, with his feet by her hip and his tall, lanky body curled up by her feet.  His chin casually rested on his hand.  His legs were lightly touching hers, carelessly.  No big deal.  Just a little casual contact among best mates.

 

Only it had never happened before.  Not with Ron.  With Harry, Hermione had shared plenty of careless, comfortable touches.  Touches that meant nothing.  Nothing more than genuine _friendly_ affection, that was.  It never felt like she was being burned, it never made her heart race, or her stomach flip.

 

Like it just did when Ron shifted his leg.   _That_ felt an awful lot like a caress and not at all entirely friendly.  Of course, Ron didn’t mean it as anything more.  It was _clearly_ an accident.  

 

Only Ron never touched her, not accidental, not ever.  And if it did happen, he usually avoided her for weeks afterward.  Made a girl feel down right repulsive, really.  Unless, of course, he was just scared off by those same strange sensations like the ones she was feeling.  At least that’s what the hopeful part of her brain said.  The masochistic part said he just didn’t like to touch her.  Neither part was Hermione’s most logical.

 

Hermione remembered Ron’s first Quidditch match.  What had possessed her that day and made her kiss him on the cheek, she’d never know.  She was lucky he talked to her at all after that.  Though it seemed that Ron barely noticed in all the excitement.  He probably forgot all about it.

 

Regardless, he was touching her now.  Casually, yes, but deliberately.  Ron certainly _knew_ it was happening.  What did it mean?  Was it some giant shift in there relationship?  Had everything changed?  Was it a good thing?  Was she over reacting?

 

 _Clearly_ she was over reacting, but even so, it definitely represented a change of some sort.  That wonderful way he had held her earlier today … _that_ was new.  That didn’t mean that it meant what she wanted it to mean.  It was most likely just that their almost dying had finally jerked Ron out of his little boy fear of girls.  Maybe her relationship with him would become more like the one she had with Harry.

 

The thought made Hermione ill.

 

“Are you all right?”  

 

Ron’s voice drew her eyes upward and she focused on his concerned blue eyes.  How could he have no idea the effect he had on her?  It took her a minute to process his question, but finally she nodded, feeling like an idiot.  Why was it, when she needed it most, her intellect failed her?

 

Ron frowned at her, clearly disbelieving her hesitant nod.  Hermione quickly pretended to be focused on the chess game and called out the safest move she could find.  It didn’t further her chance of winning, but it met her immediate goal of distracting Ron from his scrutiny.

 

Once again, he was entirely focused on the game, and as usual he was entirely daft when it came to her.   _That_ brought Hermione back to her original point.  How could this boy, man, whatever, with his thus far undisclosed beautiful mind, who was soundly trouncing the best student at Hogwarts, _not_ know that his best friend was hopelessly enamored with him?

 

Hermione would not say love.  Not yet.  Not when fifty percent of the time she was sure she didn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell with him.  And the other fifty percent of the time … well, maybe a snowball’s chance in Calcutta.

 

She snuck a glance at him.  He caught her eye and smiled.  It was moments like this … and moments like last night, that kept her from giving up on him and trying to move on with her life.

 

“Hermione, are you even paying attention?”  Ron asked softly, playfully.

 

“Of course, I am,” she said indignantly.  Bristling, she called out a hasty move … a fatal move.

 

“Oh really?”  Ron took her queen.  “Checkmate.”

 

She dropped her head.  It was entirely his fault anyway.  His bright blue eyes were too much of a distraction.  It was probably all part of his brilliant stratagem.  Know your opponent’s weak spot and take no prisoners.  She looked up to see him pout at her.  It was too cruel.  He’d already won.  She didn’t need any more distractions.

 

“It’s no fun if you don’t even try,” he grumbled.

 

“I was trying,” Hermione protested.  She was.  Mostly.

 

Ron rolled his eyes and sat up to clear the board.  This brought his hip firmly up against her knee.  He was getting entirety _too_ casual about this touching thing.  “Do you want to play again?” she managed to ask.

 

“Are you going to concentrate this time?”  Ron teased.

 

Sure, if he’d stop touching her and looking at her and talking to her … Hermione swallowed.  “Do you have any other ideas of how to keep ourselves busy?”

 

“Good point,” he replied with frown.  Ron began setting up the chess pieces again.

 

Hermione bit her lip, considering.  “We could always start that list I was talking about.  The one about Harry …” Ron’s head jerked up and he shot her a glance made her stop.  “Why not?”  She didn’t like the whine in her voice, but it made his features soften.

  

“Because we’re recovering.  We need to relax,” Ron said with an indulgent smile.

 

Relax.  Ha.  Was that what they were doing?  Hermione let the subject drop and tried to concentrate more on the game this time.  Ron really needed to stop moving his leg.  She was beginning to think he really was doing in on purpose.

 

 “Kinda strange that Harry hasn’t come by again,” Ron said softly.

 

Hermione’s head jerked up.  Ron was making a good show of staring at the chess board, but there was hurt in his voice, and the lines around his eyes showed that he was worried.  She shouldn’t have brought up Harry.  “I’m sure he just lost track of time,” she said as casually as she could manage.

 

Ron nodded thoughtfully, calling out a move to his bishop and watching it march obediently.  “You don’t think he’s out there having fun without us?” he asked with forced humor.

 

Hermione almost laughed.  “Harry?” she asked incredulously.  She moved a pawn.

 

Ron chuckled, though without much mirth.  “Good point.”  He moved his knight and asked, “Do you think Ginny checked up on Harry like you asked?”

 

Hermione frowned, watching Ron carefully.  He was never as unaffected as he seemed.  She shook her head.  “I’m not sure.”

 

“I did …” Ginny called from the entrance.  “But _not_ because she asked me to.”  She lumbered over carrying five large, dusty texts.  Ron quickly moved the chess board out of the way and Hermione bent her legs to make space.

 

“What’s all this?”  Ron asked.

 

Ginny dropped the heavy texts, frowning down at them.  “Everything I could find, which isn’t much.”

 

Hermione read the titles as they were dropped on the bed in front of her.

 

_Rare Gifts.  Magical Extinctions: Who’s Next?  A History of the Empath.  The Myth and the Reality of the Empath.  Empathy: A Power Beyond Reach_

 

Ron looked completely appalled.  Hermione looked up in confusion, Ginny sighed as she sat down on Ron’s bed.  

 

“So, Harry and I were out for a walk …”

  
  


                                                                    * * * * *

  



	4. Hitting the Wall

Harry arrived in Dumbledore’s office and attempted to regain his balance from their whirling departure from the Pensieve.  But the balance he sought was nowhere to be found.  He felt out of control.  Even the organizing presence of rage had slipped away from him during his split-second journey back to the office.  He wanted that anger back.

 

The majestic walls of the office, once so comforting, closed in on him.  This room had felt like the home of wisdom itself, a sanctuary.  But now, Harry knew there was no such thing.  He felt suffocated.  God, he hated this room.

 

Harry found himself meeting his cousin’s eyes.  His cousin.  Bloody hell.  All the air left his lungs.  Looking at her now, the familial resemblance seemed so strong that it seemed unreal, as if someone had purposely designed a person to look like him.  Yet, somehow, Harry had completely missed it earlier this evening.

 

Adrianna met his gaze evenly.  She had a calm, resolute expression, as if she was waiting for Harry to rage at her and was preparing herself.  She must be expecting questions, demands, but she wasn’t the one Harry was angry at.  And the questions he had were not for her.

 

Seeming to sense this, Adrianna’s eyes narrowed in confusion, then widened with worry.  Harry turned toward Dumbledore, his teacher, his mentor, his protector.  The man who had failed him on every count.

 

“Harry.”  He heard Adrianna whispered warning behind him.  Harry ignored it.  He took in Dumbledore’s ever serene demeanor.  His fingers were casually laced together, a relaxed expression was on his face … ah, there it was.  Harry had found the rage he was looking for.

 

The anger that filled him was such that he could barely see.  Everything looked red.  His own heartbeat thundered in his ears.  Why …?  He meant to say it out loud, but it never came out.  

 

Dumbledore.  He was the only person in Harry’s life that he had always trusted to keep him safe, to do the right thing, to lead Harry through the horror that was his life.  He was the _only_ one that Harry didn’t have to worry about protecting.  Dumbledore protected _him_.  Harry.  Or he used to.

 

Harry would have stood by him until the end.  He had defended him in the heart of battle and now… now his mentor had betrayed him.  Dumbledore lied to him.  Worse than lied, kept his life from him, past and future, legacy and prophecy.

 

“Why?”  Harry asked when he finally found his voice.  “Why would you do this?  Why wouldn’t you _tell_ me?”  Unlike his last visit to this office, Harry didn’t yell.  He couldn’t.  If he yelled he would lose any control he had left.

 

“Harry,” Adrianna warned again and, this time, he felt her hand close around his upper arm.  He froze at the contact.  It was their first.  As far as he knew, she was his only magical relative and this was the first time they had had physical contact.  Someone had stolen a lifetime of that from him.  

 

The thought sparked another wave of fury and Adrianna took a hissing breath behind him, as if she had felt it.  Harry reckoned she had.  “Step back, Harry,” she told him forcefully, her voice close to his ear.  He felt the gentle pressure of her hand pulling him back.

 

Harry realized that his whole body was tense, his muscles coiled, his hands fisted.  He was ready to strike.  And he was in arms length of his old mentor.  Dumbledore appeared completely unaffected.

 

Harry growled, deep in his throat.  “I want answers.”

 

“And you’ll get them,” Adrianna said with focused calm.  “But first you need to take a _step_ _back_.”

 

Harry’s jaw clenched.  Reluctantly, he took two steps back.  Adrianna’s arm relaxed, but her hand stayed on him, comforting and invasive at the same time.  Always a reminder to keep himself restrained.  

 

“So tell me!”  Harry demanded with more disrespect than he had ever exhibited, even at his most arrogant.  He felt guilty and satisfied at the same time.  He’d thought he could forgive Dumbledore for the prophecy, for the Department of Mysteries, but this was one thing too many.

 

Dumbledore’s eyes moved carefully between Harry and his cousin, watchfully taking in their interactions.  “Yes, it appears that once again I owe you an explanation … and an apology, to both you and Miss Potter.”

 

He paused at a soft, mirthless laugh from Adrianna.  “No one calls me Miss Potter.  No one has _ever_ called me that.”

 

Dumbledore gave a small smile and nodded slightly.  “Adrianna then, perhaps I might offer you and your young cousin a seat.”  He waved his arm toward his large chairs.  

 

Harry could feel Adrianna’s eyes on him.  He clenched his teeth tighter and shook his head.  “Standing it is,” she replied lightly.

 

The headmaster cocked his head in acceptance.  “If you’ll forgive an old man …” He rounded the desk and settled himself in his large throne-like chair.  Looking up at them Dumbledore’s expression was filled with sadness and regret.  Harry was beyond caring.  

 

The professor continued, “It does seem that my mistakes are accumulating this week.  I know how hard it is for you to understand, Harry …” The angry teenager scoffed and turned his head away, rejecting the attempt at compassion.  “You must know that every decision made was in what we believed to be your best interest.”

 

Harry laughed outright.  “How could not telling me about my family be in my _best_ interest?”

 

“Harry,” Dumbledore explained gently.  “This was family that had rejected magic and disappeared across the Atlantic.  A Muggle Aunt by marriage and a child who had her own difficult to control powers.  By the time you came to Hogwarts we hadn’t heard from them in over eleven years.  There was a good chance your cousin was dead and now … Harry, I don’t think you could comprehend how incredible Adrianna’s survival is.  No known Empath has _ever_ lived to the age of twenty-eight.  For her to be here, so healthy.  It’s truly fantastic.”

 

Dumbledore’s expression held a bit of awe.  Harry turned and looked at his cousin.  She looked like any other witch her age, nothing out of the ordinary.  Adrianna merely shrugged at the professor’s words, “Yeah, it’s thrilling.  Really.”  

 

Harry almost smiled.  Almost.  Instead, he crossed his arms tightly across his chest, allowing Adrianna’s hand to fall away.  “So you made assumptions,” he challenged.  “Did you even try and find her?  Try and see if she was _actually_ dead?”  Was it ignorance or laziness?

 

Dumbledore looked dejected.  “Harry, I personally sent hundreds of owls to America, the first year alone.  She had disappeared.”

 

He broke off at Adrianna’s laugh.  “Yes, I had disappeared into one of three American magic schools.”  Harry watched Dumbledore’s reaction to the words.  As always, it was subtle.  His wrinkled eyes narrowed, a look of contemplation on his face.  

 

When he didn’t comment, Adrianna spoke again.  “I remember _one_ letter my mother showed me.  It was almost two years after … when I was thirteen.  It said _all_ my father’s family was dead and that you wanted to speak with me.”

 

“You didn’t contact us?”  Dumbledore asked simply.

 

“Why would I?  My family was dead.  I had no further ties with Britain.”  Her face hardened.  “But my _whole_ family wasn’t dead.”

 

Dumbledore smiled a grim smile.  “One of the many things I had planned on discussing when you had made contact.”

 

Adrianna again gave a mirthless laugh, turning away and shaking her head.  Harry felt his anger and disgust rising again.  All the decisions that had so profoundly affected his life, each one flashed before his eyes, overwhelming him.  All the things kept from him, his Godfather, the prophecy, his connection with Voldemort, and dozens more over the years.  

 

At one time, Harry had thought Dumbledore infallible.  Now that seemed laughable.  The old wizard had once promised Adrianna that he would protect Harry and his family.  He had failed utterly.  The urge to throw something was coming back.

 

Harry felt a hand on his arm again.  “Harry, let’s go,” Adrianna told him firmly.  Harry resisted the pull, looking at her in question.  Her expression expressed urgency.  Was it because of what _he_ was feeling?  “We need to get out of this office.  Now.”

 

Harry almost told her that it was ok, he had torn this office up before, but he let her pull him to the door.  He really, really hated this office.

 

“Miss Potter … Adrianna,” Dumbledore called and she turned back to him with a long suffering look.  He handed her a shinny golden object.  “You are welcome to stay with us as long as you need.”

 

She took the key-like object, muttering, almost sarcastically, “Thanks.”  The door opened and Harry stumbled down the stairs, desperate to be free of the oppressive room.  

 

In the hall, he stumbled and fell against the opposite wall in his haste to descend the stairs.  Fury welled up in him.  All the secrets and lies haunted Harry.  He let out a growl of frustration and slammed his hand into the hard stone wall.  It felt good so he balled up his fist and pounded it into the stone with all his might.  He only got in three good punches before exhaustion overwhelmed him and he slid to his knees.  Harry collapsed against the wall, his back to the stone, and buried his head in his knees.

 

“Hey,” Adrianna called softly.  Harry opened his eyes to see his cousin crouched in front of him.  “Let me see that.”  She reached over and took his bleeding hand without waiting for permission.  “It’s not broken, that’s good.  You hit that wall pretty damn hard.”  She smiled what seemed to be a genuine smile.  “I can probably heal this.  Do you want me to?”

 

Harry considered her question.  No one had ever given him the choice before.  Was there a choice?

 

She smiled sympathetically.  “Sometimes physical pain feels good.  Takes your mind off the other kinds of pain.  Sometimes it feels good to see yourself bruised on the outside, when you feel bruised on the inside.  So, if you want to keep it, it’s up to you.”

 

Harry cradled his injured hand.  After a minute he said, “I think I’ll keep it.”

 

“I thought you might.”  There was quiet for a minute.  “I’m sorry we didn’t look for you, my mother and I.”

 

Harry searched Adrianna’s face.  “How old were you?” he asked though he knew the answer.

 

“Thirteen.”

 

Harry laughed.  What could she have done?  She was a child.  As powerless as he, himself, was now.  

 

“In Dumbledore’s defense,” Adrianna said quietly.  “A thirteen year old Empath, in school, and a Muggle woman, in America, probably weren’t the best choice to keep you safe.”

 

Harry smiled bitterly.  “Yes, but would I have had to sleep in a cupboard?”

 

“You slept in a cupboard?”  Her voice expressed outrage, making Harry feel a tad better.  She shook her head.  “At least you’re alive.  That’s something Dumbledore is responsible for,” Adrianna said evenly as she moved to sit next to him against the wall.

 

Harry scoffed.  Yeah, something.  “He promised to keep _all_ of us safe.”

 

“Yeah,” she sighed.  “But, it wasn’t a promise he could keep.  No one can be sure they can protect anyone, all they can do is try.”  Adrianna took a deep breath.  “He tried his best.  To tell you the truth, I think all of this is out of our hands, _all_ of our hands.  Too many things had to align just right for us to not know about each others existence.  I think Fate had it planned this way,” she said with a far away expression.

 

Harry sneered in disgust.  “Fuck Fate!”

 

Adrianna laughed genuinely.  It was a soft feminine sound.  “My sentiments exactly, but unfortunately I’ve learned not to mess with it.  Fate, Destiny, they are a hell of a lot more powerful than we could ever be.”

 

“That’s why you’re here,” Harry stated in a monotone.  She didn’t want to be here.  She just felt she had to be.

 

Adrianna sighed again.  “It’s true that there are certain … inconveniences about being _summoned_ to Britain.  But you aren’t one of them.  I’d have come for you anyway, if I’d known about you.”

 

Harry considered he words carefully.  Did he believe her?  Could he afford to?  Was it worth trusting anyone ever again, especially an adult?  

 

“Well, I’m not going anywhere so you don’t have to decide now …”

 

Harry started at her words.  The mind reading thing would take a lot of getting used to.

 

“… but at the moment I’m starving, so …” Adrianna trailed off with a smile.

 

Against his better judgment, Harry found himself saying, “I have a friend in the kitchen …”

 

  


                                                            * * * * * 

 

 

 

When Ginny finally hurried back to Gryffindor Tower, it was well after midnight.  She had wanted to be back before Harry, so she could _causally_ catch him on his way back through the portrait hole.  That way she could nonchalantly and inconspicuously … bombard him with questions.  For example, who the hell was this Adrianna and what bloody well happened in Dumbledore’s office?  

 

That, and Ginny needed to make sure Harry’s tenuous hold on sanity was still intact.  Her worry over him was almost overwhelming.  She couldn’t get him out of her head.  The warring factions inside Ginny gave her a pounding headache.  One part warned her, “Leave Harry alone.  He doesn’t want you in his life.  He doesn’t need your interfering.  Have you no pride?”  While the other screamed, “It doesn’t matter.  He _needs_ you, whether he knows it or not.”

 

Ginny’s current exhaustion and anxiety were completely overriding her self preservation. So to hell with pride, she’d lick her wounds after this whole situation was resolved.

 

She gave the password to The Fat Lady and climbed through the portrait hole.  The common room was empty, which Ginny found somewhat surprising as they had no classes tomorrow.  She looked around, trying to decide what to do.  

 

God only knew what had happened in Dumbledore’s office.  Did Harry learn some new information that sent him into a rage, or an even deeper depression?  They didn’t know that this Adrianna wouldn’t hurt Harry.  She _could_ be working for Voldemort.  All Ginny knew, as she paced the common room floor, was that she really _had_ to see Harry.

 

Well, chances were that he was already in his dorm room.  It was really late.  Ginny was just going to have to go up there and get him.  

 

She stared at the staircase to the boys’ dormitory and bit her lip.  He’d probably be in bed.  Ginny wouldn’t want to alert his dorm mates to her presence.  She’d probably have to climb onto his bed, since it was so tall.  Her pulse rate quickened.

 

The sacrifices one makes.  Ginny suppressed a hysterical giggle.

 

But what if they weren’t asleep?  It was highly likely that at least some of the fifth-year boys were awake.  Dean had said that they hadn’t planned on going to bed any time soon. Ginny couldn’t very well tell them that she was sneaking into the dorm in the middle of the night to see Harry.  

 

Ginny considered just going to bed, and then the events of the day flashed through her mind.  She was never going to be able to sleep without talking to Harry first.  She took a deep breath and started to climb the stairs to the boys’ dormitory.  

 

She’d just tell them that she needed something for Ron.  It was a slim excuse at one a. m., but she’d improvise.  Ginny was an excellent liar.  

 

Passing the younger dormitories, Ginny heard rambunctious laughter and chatter coming from the fourth-years.  She dashed past her classmates’ semi-open door and up to the fifth year landing.  It seemed pretty quiet.  She stuck her head in the door and cautiously looked around.  All was still, but the velvet drapes hid the contents of most of the beds.  

 

Ginny crept into the room, as she did, she began to panic.  God damn it.  She couldn’t remember which bed was Harry’s.  She briefly considered leaving … randomly, she chose a bed and steeled herself.  She lifted the heavy drapery.  Her heart pouded.

 

“Looking for someone?”

 

Ginny jumped and spun.  She found herself face to face, literally, with Dean Thomas.  “Bloody hell, Dean!  Are you trying give me a heart attack?”

 

He was smiling roguishly at her.  Ginny felt a tentative hand come to rest on her hip.  She was considering just what to do about it, when his other hand came to rest on her other hip.  After a moment, his grip became more confident.  

 

She swallowed, uncharacteristically flustered.  Her hands fluttered.  She wasn’t sure what to do with them.  Somehow, they wound up on his chest.  Ginny told herself that it was so she could push him away if she had to.  

 

“What are you doing?”  Dean asked softly, intimately.

 

“Um … I was getting something for Ron.”  But Ginny didn’t sound certain about it.  Her voice broke.  Shite, what was wrong with her?

 

Dean chuckled huskily.  Ginny was acutely aware of being caught between a pajama-clad male and a bed.  She’d never been between a boy and a bed before.

 

“This isn’t Ron’s bed,” he said in a whisper.  “That is.”  He gestured with his head to a bed on the other side of the room.  The only one with open curtains.

 

“Oh.  Whose bed is this?”  Ginny was scared to find out.

 

Dean’s hands tightened on her hips.  “Mine.”

 

“Oh.”  Bloody hell.  “Well, I didn’t know that, did I?”  She fought to keep her voice even.

 

Dean was leaning closer to her and the look in his eyes made her feel … wanted … attractive … sexy.  Sexy, this whole situation was overwhelmingly sexy.  Ginny really needed to push away.  She was in _so_ much trouble.

 

Then his lips were on hers.  Ginny really shouldn’t have been surprised, but she was.  His lips were soft and warm, slightly open, and felt … really, really nice.  But her eyelids had not even had a chance to close when he pulled back and looked into her eyes.

 

Ginny didn’t know if it was the deliciously scandalous situation or the look of want in his eyes, but she was feeling giddy.  So, when he leaned into her again, she met him half-way.  Her eyelids fluttered closed and she let her lips slide softly over Dean’s in a practiced manner, slow and sensuous.

 

It hadn’t gone on very long when Ginny heard a crash in the hall.  She jerked away abruptly as she heard Neville swear from the behind the door.  Oh thank God!  It’s not Harry.  Shite, she did _not_ just think that!

 

Ginny’s widened eyes met Dean’s.  Ginny finally unfroze and pushed him away.  She scrambled for the door as Neville entered.

 

“Hey, Ginny … wha …?” asked the limping boy.

 

Ginny ignored him, but paused at the door to look back at Dean.  He was staring after her.  She shot him a quick smile and ran out the door and down the spiraling staircase.

 

Oh shite.  Oh shite.  What did she just do?  And why the hell did she feel so guilty about it?  She could kiss whomever she bloody wanted to.  Shite.  She had just kissed Dean Thomas.  And it was … _fun_.

 

“Ginny?”

 

She looked up to see that she was about to crash head first into Harry Potter.  Oh fuck.  She was a dirty slag.

 

Harry had a small, inquisitive smile.  “What are you doing on the stairs to the boys' dormitory?”

 

Ginny felt panic bubble up inside her.  He knew.  He could tell by the look on her face.

 

“Looking for you,” she whispered honestly, suddenly remembering why she was there in the first place.  She grabbed Harry’s arm and pulled him down the stairs and into the common room.  She deliberately pushed the events of the last half-hour from her mind.  Ginny had more important things to deal with than kissing.

 

She pulled Harry over to the sofa in front of the fire and they both sat.  Taking in his worn and tired appearance, Ginny whispered in a rush, “What happened?  Are you all right?  Blimey, it’s one thirty in the morning, Harry.”  

 

Harry sank into the sofa and leaned his head back, eyes fixing on the ceiling.  “I, er ...  I’m fine, I suppose …”

 

“Where have you been?” she asked, anxiously.   _Too_ anxiously for her tastes.

 

“With … with my cousin.”

 

“Your cousin …?  Adrianna?”  Ginny repeated, feeling stupid.  Her heart clenched in her chest, but even as she questioned it, the pieces began to fall into place.  The color of Adrianna’s hair, the shape of her jaw, all so familiar.   _That_ was why Ginny had to struggle to keep her guard up.  Adrianna reminded her of Harry.  Ginny never had much of a defense against Harry.

 

“Yeah, weird isn’t it?”  Harry said absently, not looking at her.

 

Yeah, weird.  Ginny found herself asking, “Are you sure?”  

 

Harry laughed, a short bitter laugh.  It felt like ice in Ginny’s veins.  “How can anyone be sure of anything anymore?”  He rolled his head against the back of the sofa and looked at Ginny with a piercing green gaze.  He smiled a mirthless smile.  “I’m as sure as I am of anything.  Dumbledore was definitely convinced.  Not that that means anything.  He’s been wrong enough lately.”

 

Ginny listened to Harry’s bitter words with a combination of dread and confusion.  It was like he had lost all hope.  “Harry, I don’t understand.”  

 

He looked her over for a minute, then shrugged and looked back to the ceiling.  Biting back her frustration Ginny carefully asked, “What happened in Dumbledore’s office?”  She held her breath, wondering if he would reply.

 

There were long endless moments where Harry acted as though he hadn’t heard her.  Embarrassment at having made herself vulnerable to Harry warred with increasing concern.

 

When finally he spoke, it was softly, hesitatingly and he never looked away from the ceiling.  “Um … Dumbledore showed us the memory of … his memory, in his Pensieve, of the day Adrianna’s father, my uncle, was killed.”  Ginny covered her mouth to cover a gasp, unwilling to break Harry’s train of thought and jerk him away from his story.  “It was Voldemort, of course.  My father was there …”

 

Harry trailed off and Ginny thought maybe she should respond, or prompt him or something, so she said, “Wow.”  That was all she could manage.  Pathetic really.  He always did turn her into a blithering idiot.

 

He swallowed.  “Yeah.  It was.  You should have seen … I mean, Adrianna was twelve years old and locked in a cupboard.  All the while, she heard her father being killed, _felt_ it.  There is no way that it wasn’t Adrianna.  It just was.”

 

“Oh,” Ginny said.  Again very articulate.  That kiss must have addled her brain.  Don’t think about the kiss, damn it.

 

“Umhmm.”

 

She let out a deep breath, mind working furiously.  “So … why is she here?  Why now?”

 

Harry picked up his head, looking at her, confused.  He shook his head.  “Just what she said before, vision, protection, bloody fucking Fate.”

 

Ginny almost giggled.  She had never heard Harry swear quite that harshly before.  She forced herself to stay serious.  “So you … er, believe her?”  

 

He resumed staring at the ceiling.  “Yeah, I believe her.”

 

Ginny watched him cautiously.  Though she hadn’t seen the Pensieve, she certainly wasn’t willing to trust the woman that easily and given his state of mind, she certainly didn’t think Harry was capable of making a proper judgment.  

 

 “So, um …” she considered her next words carefully.  “What else happened?”  

 

Harry glanced at her out of the corner of his eye.  “After the Pensieve?”

 

Ginny shrugged.  Really, she was looking for any information at all.

 

He gave a half smile.  “Well, Adrianna had to pull me out of Dumbledore’s office to keep me from striking him—”

 

“Harry!”  Ginny gasped, shocked.  “What?  Why?”

 

There was another bitter laugh.  “Dunno.  Maybe because Dumbledore lied to me about the prophecy, about the Department of Mysteries, made me learn Occlumency from a man who could never teach _me_ anything.  Then kept my family from me.  Yeah, I reckon that’s it.  Oh, and in his Pensieve memory he promised Adrianna he’d keep my parents safe.  He did a right good job of it, didn't he now?”

 

“Harry … no …” Ginny sputtered, completely horrified, only understanding half of what he was saying.  “Dumbledore, he … he just wants to keep you safe.”  She said the only comforting things she could think of.  “He did his best.”  Even as she said this it seemed odd.  If Dumbledore’s best wasn’t good enough, than whose was?

 

“Yeah, well ...”  Harry leaned back and rubbed his eyes.  “That’s what Adrianna said …” he drifted off, yawning.  “I’ve got to get some sleep.”  He began to get up, then stopped and looked at her.  The intensity of it made her cheeks warm.  “Ginny ...”  His voice was hesitant.  “Thanks for, you know, everything today.”

 

Ginny swallowed.  Somehow, she managed to say, “You’re welcome.”

 

He nodded and hesitatingly walked to the stairs.  Ginny stared after him, wanting to call him back, too many questions still unanswered.  Then, as if he knew her mind, he _did_ turn.  “Tomorrow morning,” Harry said haltingly, “after breakfast, I’m bringing Adrianna to meet with Hermione and Ron.  I’d like it if … do you want to come?”

 

“Sure,” Ginny said quickly, too quickly.  She had no pride left.

 

Harry nodded, then looked at the ground.  He seemed to have more to say.  Ginny waited anxiously for him to speak.  When he did, it was so soft she could barely make it out.  “Do you think you could …?  I don’t want to put you out …”

 

Ginny almost laughed out loud at that.  Put her out.  Ha!

 

“But I was wondering if you’d meet me before.  So we could go over everything … you know how Hermione can be.  She’s going to be awfully suspicious …”

 

Hermione?  Shite.  Should Ginny confess that she went to Hermione and told her everything she knew?  Crap, he was going to hate her.

 

“I could really use an ally,” Harry finished, looking up at her shyly, biting the inside of his cheek.

 

All Ginny could do was nod, terrified and honored.  Harry smiled, seeming relieved.  He nodded, quickly turned, and ascended the stairs.

 

All Ginny could do was watch.  Watch him disappear up the stairs to go to the room he shared with Dean Thomas.  The boy who Ginny had been snogging barely an hour before.  Right before Harry Potter asked her to be his ally against his best friends and share his deepest secrets.

 

Bloody hell!  Ginny threw herself back on the sofa and covered her eyes with her arm.  When did life get so damn complicated?

  
  


* * * * *

  


 

For the fourth night in a row, Ron awoke gasping.  The horrifying images lingered as the hospital wing came into view.  He ran a hand over his eyes attempting to clear them.

 

“Ron, are you all right?”  a famine voice called from next to him called.  It sounded awfully alert.

 

Relief filled him at the sound of Hermione’s voice, helping him banish the image of her limp corpse from his mind.  He blinked rapidly to clear his mind, as he struggled control his breathing.  Ron’s eyes were drawn to her bed.  They narrowed.  “Hermione, what are you doing?”

 

She was guiltily hiding what was obviously a book under the covers.  A lit wand was held behind her back.  “Nothing.  Are you ok?  I mean, what are _you_ doing?” she stammered, uncharacteristically flustered.

 

“I was having a nightmare.  As usual.”  Ron attempted a frown to hide his amusement.  Climbing out of bed, he was next to her in a second, flipping back her covers.  “And you … are doing research.”  He glanced at the clock on the wall and frowned.  “At four in the morning.”

 

Ron ran his hand over his face.  What was he going to do with her?  Three days after being hexed into a coma and she was staying up all night studying.  Even with all their exams over, Hermione couldn’t put down the bloody books.  The girl was going to work herself to death.  The thought genuinely scared him.

 

He sat next to her, taking in her shamefaced expression.  Hermione’s eyes were fixed on her hands as they played with her bed sheets.  She had such delicate looking hands, they were stained with ink.

 

Ron shook his head.  He cleared his throat.  Keep on task.  “Hermione, you promised.”

 

She looked up at him with a pout.  “I couldn’t sleep.”  Hermione rarely pouted.  That would entail some sort of acceptance of being wrong, which Hermione never did.  Now, Ron had to look away to keep from being unduly swayed by that manipulative lip.  It was a very effective weapon.  He wondered if she realized that.

 

Ron reached over to her bedside table and picked up a full vial of draught.  “Then you should have taken your potion.”

 

Hermione’s jaw set.  The look in her eyes changed from shame to challenge.  She crossed her arms.  “All right, then.  You first.”

 

Their eyes held for many moments in a silent battle of wills.  Finally, Ron let the hand that was holding the Dreamless Sleep Draught drop.  He didn’t know why he ever thought he was going to win with her.  Besides, he wasn’t going to let himself become dependant on the potion, why would Hermione?

 

Flashes of his dream assailed him again.  Ron brought his eyes back to her stubborn and wonderfully _alive_ face.  “You’re tired, Hermione.  I can tell.”

 

She sighed.  “I tried to sleep, but then I kept thinking of Harry and this woman.  Then it occurred to me that everything we’ve been reading only goes back to the turn of the sixteen century.  Look.”  She started flipping through pages.  “It only goes back as far as 1520.  Then it just stops.  There is something important about this date.  So I …”

 

Ron shook his head firmly, gently pulling the book from her hands.  “You need to put this away and get some sleep.  It can wait.”

   

“No, Ron, _wait_ ,” she insisted softly, stilling his hands by firmly laying hers over his.  

 

Ron was paralyzed.  He stared down at Hermione’s hand as if it were something foreign.  He seemed to have stopped breathing.  Maybe this is why he had avoided touching her for so long.  She had some magic where she could completely control him with the simplest of touches.

 

He wanted to protest and pull the book away, instead Ron whispered, “What?”  His eyes remained glued to their hands.  They had somehow become entwined.  Had he done that?  There was something strange about this room that made him act on the oddest impulses.  It did feel wonderful to feel her warmth after the frigid cold of the nightmare.  

 

“I need to show you something,” Hermione whispered back.  He had no idea why they were whispering.  Professor Umbridge had been transferred to St. Mungos.  They were the only ones in the room.  Ron tried to tear his eyes away from their hands, but only got as far as her neck.  He watched in fascination as Hermione swallowed anxiously.  Why was _she_ anxious?

 

She flipped through the pages with her free hand, her non-dominant hand.  It was awkward but she didn’t remove her hand from his.  “When I couldn’t find out what happened before 1520, I got really frustrated and when I get frustrated in studying sometimes I try studying something else … so, anyway I decided to take a break and look up this other thing—”

 

“Hermione,” Ron interrupted with a smile, giving her a look that told her that she was rambling.  Hermione really was mental.  Though, for once, he found it more endearing than irritating.

  

“Right,” she breathed in a hushed tone and bit her lip.  “So, I decided to look for this woman’s family.  The books are too old for her to be in … anyway, I couldn’t find any Empath families in America, but again the book is rather old, so I decided to look and see if I could find an Empath line in England.  There was only one.”  She opened to a page with “Brookfield” written in fancy calligraphy.

 

Ron narrowed his eyes, he needed to stop this nonsense and get her back to bed … her bed … sleep that is … _alone_.  Oh God.  “Hermione, interesting as this is …”

 

She fixed him with a pleading glance.  “One more minute, I’m going somewhere important with this.”  Ron sighed, but let her continue.  “In the mid 1500s Nicoli Molikov, patriarch of a line of Russian Empaths married his eldest daughter, an Empath, at the age of twelve, to James Brookfield in 1545.”  Ron groaned, earning a glare.  “Fine …” Hermione flipped to the end of the chapter, pointing to the last paragraph.

 

“In 1780, Elizabeth Brookfield, a sixteen-year old Empath and the last of the Brookfields, married Henry _Potter_ ,” Hermione said triumphantly as Ron sat up straighter, suddenly taking interest.  “A year later, she had one son, Alexander _Potter_.  She then promptly went crazy and ‘fell’ off a cliff.  And then that’s all that’s written, this book was published in 1801.”

 

Ron squinted his eyes in the darkness, trying to read what she was talking about.  There it was there … “Potter.”  His mind was tripping over itself in attempt to catch up with her, his heart rate accelerating.  “So, you think Harry and the woman Ginny met are …”

 

“Related.  Yeah, I do, or that she is going to claim that they are related.  Judging from how Ginny described Professor Dumbledore and McGonagall’s reactions … and didn’t she say that the woman had black hair and that she seemed oddly familiar?”

 

Ron shook his head at the ridiculousness of it all.  He let out a soft chuckle.  “It almost seems too clichéd to be real, Hermione.  I mean the long lost relative appears at his darkest moment to save Harry from himself.”

 

Hermione didn’t seem to see the humor in the situation, she frowned.  “Or to destroy him.  Ron, this is serious, we don’t know if this woman has Harry’s best interests at heart.”

 

“We don’t know that she doesn’t either,” he said gently, not wanting to start a fight.

 

Hermione met his eyes for the first time since their hands had … touched.  

“Ron, she could be working for Voldemort.”

 

He took a deep breath.  “She could.  She could also be here to help.”

 

Hermione sighed and looked away.  “Regardless, if this book is correct and these Potters are the same Potters, then there are other implications—”

 

“Sure, if Harry had family then—”

 

“No, it would mean Harry has Empath _blood_.”

 

Ron frowned, asking skeptically, “Harry could be an Empath?”

 

“No, Ron,” Hermione sighed with a familiar frustrated tone.  “Didn’t you pay attention at all today?  Men can’t be Empaths, only woman, but _all_ the woman in the line have the gift, or, more accurately, curse.”

 

Now, Ron was even more confused.  “So?”

 

“So, it’s awful being an Empath.  They die young and go crazy, it’s an appalling existence.  If Harry were to have a daughter then—”

 

Ron laughed out right.  “Hermione, I think Harry is more concerned about surviving to graduation than what might happen to a fictional future daughter.  He doesn’t even have a girlfriend.”

  

Hermione bit her lip, studying their joined hands.  “I suppose.”

 

Ron rolled his eyes.  Hermione was always thinking way too far ahead.  Harry’s daughter, really … then a horrible thought occurred to him, making his stomach clench.  “Why do you care so much?” he asked carefully, only partially succeeding in keeping the accusation out of his voice.  

 

Her eyes snapped back up to his, her expression confused.

 

Ron suddenly felt cold.  He knew he was gripping her hand painfully hard.  “Unless you’re worried about yourself … about _you_ and Harry.”

 

Her expression remained bemused despite the pressure on her fingers.  “Me and Harry what?”

 

“Unless you’re concerned about _your_ daughter …” Ron heard his voice squeak at the words.  He wasn’t sure why this was upsetting him so much.

 

Hermione laughed as comprehension joined, her fingers moved against his warmly.  “No, no.  I can honestly say I have never thought of Harry in _that_ way.”

 

“Never?”  Ron repeated daftly.  “Like the past … what about now, are you—”

 

“Ron,” she interrupted, smiling at him with a strangely sweet expression, searching his face.  “Harry’s like a brother to me.”

 

Ron felt a brief flood of relief before another strangely disturbing question popped into his mind.  His next question came tumbling out before he could stop it.  “Am I like a brother?”  Ron felt himself panic as he said it.  Why would he ask such a daft question?

 

The smile faded from Hermione’s face and she looked away.  His heart dropped.  “I think you have enough siblings, don’t you think?” she murmured softly.

  

Oh.  Good.  That was good.  He wasn’t sure why that was good, but it was.  Hermione was playing with his fingers again.  That was good as well.  Shite, now _he_ was going mental.  They really needed to get some sleep.  

 

“Well, then ...”  he said clearing his throat and purposely raising his voice to a normal level.  “This is nothing that can’t wait until tomorrow.”  This time he was determined as he disentangled their fingers and removed the book from her lap.

 

“But …” she protested.

 

“Hermione, we don’t know anything.  We need to rest so you … _we_ can heal.  We can research tomorrow.”  He placed the book under his bed.

 

“But Harry … this woman—”

 

“Will come by tomorrow and you can interrogate them then.”  

 

“What if they don’t?”  Hermione crossed her arms and fixed him with a stubborn look, but this time he wasn’t dissuaded.  Ron reached over and snatched her wand.  “Hey,” she protested, reaching for it.

 

He ignored her, placing the wand on the far side of his bed.  “Then you’ll have to get yourself better if you ever want to get out of here and track them down.”

 

“Ron, give me back my wand,” she demanded in a whine.

 

“Just making sure the lights stay out.”  He looked over her obstinate expression.  The minute he turned his back she was going to be at it again.  Ron frowned, considering.  He stood and grabbed his own wand from under his pillow.  “ _Accio bed.”_

 

Hermione raised her brows at him as he climbed in and turned to face her.  “I’m just going to be right here watching you until you fall asleep.  So don’t even think about trying anything.”

 

She attempted a glare, but it turned into an affectionate smile.  “Well, good night, then.”

 

“’Night.”  

 

 

 

* * * * *

 

 

  
  



	5. Weaknesses

Sleep was impossible.  How anything so mundane, so necessary for everyday life could be impossible, Harry didn’t know.  Yet, it was.  Dawn was starting to filter through his curtains and Harry mused on how amazing it was that a person could function on so little sleep.  He could barely remember what being well rested felt like.  Did it matter?  Nothing mattered.

 

Well, it was close enough to morning now.  Harry climbed out of his prison of a bed.  The curtains on the other beds were still drawn.  All except Ron’s.  That was his fault as well.  His fault that Ron was sleeping in a hard, miserable cot in the hospital wing.

 

Harry spent a ridiculously long time in the shower trying to wake up, which of course was ironic _and_ impossible at the same time.  How could one wake up if they never slept?  How could one be alert when one’s head was full of fog?

 

As Harry slowly descended the stairs an odd feeling came over him.  Butterflies settled in his stomach and his palms became sweaty.  He almost felt like he did before an important Quidditch match.  That is if he were forced to play Quidditch after a big hole had been ripped in his gut.

 

It took him a minute to realize what the feeling was all about.  Was he really _that_ worried about Adrianna meeting Ron and Hermione?  It seemed he was.  He was surprised that anything mattered to him at all.  

 

Harry had a really bad feeling about the meeting.  Hermione could be suspicious to the point of paranoia, and after she had been right about the Department of Mysteries … well, whatever happened today, at least Ginny would be there.  There was just something comforting and non-threatening about Ginny that no one else in his life possessed.

 

As he entered the common room, something moving on the sofa caught Harry’s eye.  He moved closer to see Ginny curled up, sound asleep.  She had on the same clothes that she was wearing yesterday.  Why would Ginny be asleep in the common room?  It was a little disconcerting.  Was she upset?  It wasn’t normal for someone to fall asleep just anywhere, not unless something was wrong.

 

The thought was overwhelming.  Harry didn’t know if he had the strength in him to deal with another person’s pain.  He cringed through a wave of guilt.  What kind of person did that make him?  Especially since, if there _was_ something wrong, then somehow, it must be his fault.

 

Ginny shifted a little and turned in her sleep.  Harry watched groggily.  Maybe this wasn’t even happening, maybe it was another of those bizarre half-awake dreams he’d been having.  Nothing really _felt_ real.  

 

“Ginny,” Harry called, testing the theory.

 

Immediately, Ginny’s eyes snapped open and she sat up, looking around, disoriented.  Instantly, Harry regretted speaking.  God, he was an arsehole.  He couldn’t even let her sleep.  Her shirt caught and twisted as she sat up and Harry caught a glimpse of her pale belly.  He looked away, embarrassed.

 

“Oh, um … hey, Harry,” Ginny mumbled sleepily.  “What time is it?”

 

Harry shrugged, honestly not knowing the answer.  He chanced a glance at her and saw she had righted her clothing.  “Dunno.  Early, I guess.  What are you doing down here?”

 

Ginny ran her hand through her messy hair.  “I reckon I must have fallen asleep.”

 

Well, that much was obvious.  It hardly answered Harry’s questions.  Should he ask if something was wrong?  What would he do if there was?  He couldn’t _help_ her.  He just wasn’t capable.

 

Ginny was looking him over carefully, making Harry uncomfortable.  “Maybe you should go upstairs and get some real sleep,” Harry suggested.  He hoped that he sounded concerned.  He _did_ care.

 

Ginny simply stared at him for a few minutes and then shook her head.  “I’m fine.  I slept enough.”  She yawned.  It was as if her body was protesting her words.  “Um … let me go upstairs to freshen up.  Then we can go to breakfast, yeah?”

 

Harry blinked at her and nodded slowly, feeling like his head was made of lead.  For some reason he thought he should protest, but had forgotten why.  He sank into the sofa as she disappeared up the girls’ staircase and stared into the ever present cool flame in the fireplace.

 

His mind went blissfully blank.  The one advantage of not sleeping was that everyday it got harder and harder to think, which meant longer and longer stretches of wonderful nothingness.  He watched the flicker of the flame with interest.

 

Before he knew it, Ginny was descending the stairs, looking amazingly fresh in jeans and a ponytail.  “Ready?” she called brightly.

 

Harry nodded, relieved that she didn’t seem to be upset after all.  He really needed her to be all right, with Hermione and Ron in the hospital wing … he needed _someone_ to be all right.

 

Silently, Harry followed her out of the tower and through the hallways.  His mind drifted along behind.  He suddenly realized that they were in the entrance to the Great Hall and felt a surge of panic.  He didn’t want to go in there.  He had been scrupulously avoiding going in _there_.

 

“Oh, good,” Ginny said with a smile.  “No one is up yet.  Come on.”  She took his arm and all but dragged him over to the Gryffindor table.  Harry didn’t know if he was grateful or annoyed.  Really, he was too tired to feel either.  He settled at the table.  It was so early that the breakfast platters hadn’t even appeared yet.

 

“So …” Ginny prompted with an eager smile.  “Tell.”

 

Harry nodded dumbly and began reciting the story of the Pensieve as if he had read it in a dull History of Magic book.  He recognized that strange monotone had crept back into his voice.  He was almost done with the story when Breakfast appeared.  He made a show of chewing his bacon between Ginny’s questions.  It tasted of leather.

 

“It’s strange that Dumbledore couldn’t find her all these years,” Ginny commented between healthy bites of food.  Did she always eat like Ron?  She seemed ravenous.  

 

When Harry didn’t reply, she continued, asking lightly, “So, what else did you and Adrianna talk about?”

 

Harry shrugged again.  “Not much.  We went to have dinner with Dobby.  He regaled her with stories of my second year ...”  he trailed off.  Shite.  His eyes snapped to Ginny.

 

She swallowed carefully, looking at her plate.  “The basilisk and the diary,” she said with what seemed to Harry forced calm.  “You were quite the hero.  She must have been proud.”

 

Harry snorted.  “Yeah, well, at least I didn’t get anyone killed _that_ year.”

 

“Harry!”  Ginny admonished, fixing him with an intense gaze.  “You did _not_ get Sirius killed.  It’s not your fault.”

 

He ignored her, instead rambling on as his thoughts meandered away from him.  “I was the same age then as Adrianna was when her father died.  Isn’t that strange?”

 

“Harry—”

 

Her pleading voice was like needles against his skin.  He quickly cut her off.  “So, then we, um, went to her guest room.  Dumbledore gave her a key.  Did you know we had guest rooms?  Well, we do.  Then she told me about Japan and all the places she’s been and living in America and her mother, my Aunt … she’s still alive, you know.  Everyone else is dead.  We’re all that’s left now.”

 

 “Oh, Harry …”

 

His stomach turned and he felt nauseated.  He pushed the food in front of him away.

 

“Don’t you dare.”  A commanding voice came from behind him and Harry looked up.  “You’re going to eat that,” Adrianna told him, sitting down next to him and pushing the plate back.  “Good morning, Ginny,” she greeted with a nod, looking them over carefully.  “I see you both slept well,” she commented sarcastically.

 

Neither teenager replied.  Ginny went back to eating and Harry obediently picked at a scone as he watched his cousin transfigure Pumpkin Juice into coffee and take a sip.  

 

Suddenly, Harry felt more awake.  Anxiety started to course through him and the unreal, drowsy feeling of this morning left him.  Everything felt more real, too real.  He was going to have to deal with the situation, with the new presence in his life and his old life all at once.  Adrianna and Ginny.  Adrianna and Ron.  Adrianna and Hermione … _crap_.

 

“Going to be that bad, huh?” his cousin asked.

 

“What?”  Harry asked, feeling disconnected.

 

“Hermione’s reaction,” Adrianna explained.  

 

The realization that she had read his thoughts again dawned slowly.  Harry looked at Ginny who had a strangely guilty expression and was avoiding eye contact.  Maybe this wasn’t a good idea.  “Maybe we should wait a bit before you meet—”

 

“No.”  Adrianna shook her head.  “I’m here to protect them as well.”

 

Ginny made a sound that sounded almost like a scoff.  “What if they don’t want your protection?”

 

Adrianna shrugged.  “Then they’re just going to have to suck it up like the rest of us.”

 

 

 

* * * * *

 

  


Hermione flipped through the pages of _A History of the Empath_ , skimming the pages as quickly as she could.  She knew there was a frantic quality to her reading.  She wasn’t even sure what she was looking for.  The answers she wanted weren’t going to be found in these books.  They wouldn’t tell her how Harry and this Adrianna woman were related.   _If_ they were related.

 

Yet, she needed to be prepared, before she met this woman.  Hermione was not going to be caught off guard without knowledge of Empaths.  She was determined to read every one of these books first.  The problem was that Hermione also wanted Harry to bring Adrianna here … _right now._  It was really quite the dilemma.

 

If only she hadn’t overslept.  It was all Ron’s fault.  He had to be all sweet and force her go to sleep.  Of course, he couldn’t wake her up at a decent hour either.  He probably convinced Madame Pomfrey to let her have a lie in, the interfering git.

 

Hermione turned to glare at him, to show him her displeasure and found Ron diligently pouring over an Empath text.  Immediately, she felt guilty for calling him a git, even if it was only in her head.  When did he get so sweet and supportive?  

 

Ron brow was furrowed as he read.  He was so handsome when he concentrated.  Even more so because Hermione knew she was the only reason he was reading the book so studiously.  

 

The thought infused her with warmth and she had to bite back a girly sigh.  Her thoughts floated to the night before … well, morning actually.  The feel of her hand entwined with his, the warmth of his gaze, falling asleep so close that she could touch him.  All she had to do was reach out …

 

He’d gone and done it again.  Distracted her.  Hermione was never going to get anything done at this rate.  She forced herself to look back at the page.  The words swam in front of her, foreign names of foreign Empaths, nothing useful.

 

“Damn it!”  Hermione slammed the book down so hard that pain reverberated through her aching body, making her muscles cry out.

 

“Hermione!  Well, I never!”  Ron called in a mock prim voice, laughter behind his words.

 

“Stuff it, Ron!”  This was all his fault anyway.

 

“Huh!”  He put a hand to his mouth in pretend indignation.  Hermione threw a pillow at his head and rolled her eyes, trying to hide how funny she really found his teasing.

 

After a moment, Ron sobered, asking, “No luck?”  She shook her head despairingly and he continued, “Me neither.  What exactly are we looking for again?”

 

Hermione rubbed her temples, frowning.  “Anything …”

 

Ron echoed her frustrated expression as he looked down at the dusty pages.  “There isn’t anything else about the connection between the Potters and the Brookfields.  Are you sure there is one?”

 

Hermione wasn’t sure of anything.  “Pretty sure.  The question is exactly _how_ this woman and Harry related?”

 

Ron leaned back on the bed, using the pillow she had thrown at him to cushion his head.  “Well, we know that Harry doesn’t have any brothers or sisters.  Ginny didn’t think the witch was _that_ old?  So, a cousin maybe …” Hermione nodded absently as she watched him ramble on.  She loved it when he tried to suss something out.  She loved the way his mind worked.  

 

Abruptly, he sat up and looked at her.  Hermione blushed, worried she had been caught staring at him with a love sick expression.  “Hey,” Ron said, with an excited grin.  “I think I remember my father talking about a friend from Hogwarts … Harry’s father’s brother.  I never thought much of it.”  He trailed off, seeming to rack his mind.  “He died in the war, if I remember correctly.  Yeah, definitely.  James had an older brother … I think.”

 

Hermione’s heart rate accelerated.  “So, Adrianna’s this man’s daughter?”  she asked, feeling skeptical, excited, and worried all at once.

 

Ron shrugged, though he looked proud of himself for his deduction.  He should be.  Hermione always knew he had a brilliant … damn it, back on task.  Thinking aloud, she said, “All right.  So, our hypothesis is that Adrianna is Harry’s cousin, his _first_ cousin … and that she’s an Empath that no one knows about?”  That didn’t sound right.

 

 “How did you know?”  Harry’s voice jerked Hermione’s eyes to the entranceway.  

 

He stood, staring at her, looking surprised and mildly furious.  Just behind him stood Ginny and … _the_ woman.  Oh heavens, there was no way that this Adrianna _wasn’t_ related to Harry.  The color of her hair, the shape of her jaw and mouth … it was uncanny.  This was _not_ good.

 

“We were right?”  Ron asked, an excited look on his face.  “She’s really your cousin, your _first_ cousin?”  Harry was glaring at him, but the woman nodded with an amused expression.  “Cool, I … I mean, _we_ figured something out.  Brilliant.”  He sat back with a self-satisfied smile.  

 

Normally, Hermione would be proud as well, but clearly Ron did not understand the seriousness of the situation.  She had a sinking feeling that he wasn’t going to be an ally in her distrust of this woman.  Hermione looked to Ginny.  The younger girl was lingering back just a bit, gauging the situation.  Their eyes met.  The look in Ginny’s eyes echoed Hermione’s wariness.  At least Ron’s sister was thinking clearly.

 

Harry clenched his jaw, a hard expression on his face.  “How did you even know about her in the first place?”  His accusing eyes went to Ginny, who looked increasingly distressed under his punishing gaze.

 

“Harry, I was worried … I just told them about what happened at Hagrid’s, I—” Ginny stammered.

 

“Come on, Harry, what did you expect her to do?”  the so-called-cousin interrupted as she casually sat in the chair between the two beds.  “Sit around and wait for you while you were in Dumbledore’s office?  What would _you_ have done?”  She picked up one of the texts that lie on the bedside table and thumbed through it.  “It’s impressive really, what they figured out, ‘specially considering these books are pretty crappy.”

 

Harry sighed.  “You aren’t angry that they were researching you?”  he asked his cousin, some of the anger leaving his tone.  He almost seemed worried that they would insult her.  Did this woman have that kind of influence over him already?

 

Adrianna shrugged.  “It’s what I’d do.  It’d be pretty stupid not to.  I’m just glad you’re not all a bunch of idiots.  I’ve protected idiots before, it’s not very fun.  They keep stumbling into danger, no clue how to get themselves out.”  She slammed the book closed.  Hermione saw the title, _The Myth and the Reality of the Empath._  “Complete crap!”  Adrianna said with disgust, tossing the book on the floor.

 

Anger rose in Hermione.  To treat a book with such disrespect—

 

 “Some books deserve disrespect, just like some people deserve disrespect,” Adrianna answered Hermione’s unspoken complaint, making the girl’s anger to turn to ice cold fear.  If this was the Empathy, then they really were in trouble.  Could she read all their thoughts?  

 

 “Only the ones where there're strong emotions attached,” Adrianna answered again in what Hermione felt was an insolent tone.  How dare she?

 

 “Are you reading Hermione’s thoughts?  Fantastic!”  Ron called with enthusiasm, making Hermione turn her eyes sharply to his.  What was he up to?  “Is it a fun power to have?”  he asked.

 

Hermione couldn’t believe her ears.  Ron was acting like he was meeting a new mate.  She took back every kind thing she ever said, or more accurately thought, about his intelligence.  She watched, astounded, as the boy smiled stupidly.  

 

Harry relaxed, sitting on Ron’s bed, grinning at Ron and Adrianna in turn.  Were all boys daft?  Her stomach clenched.  Was it because Adrianna was attractive?  Ron was a fool for a pretty girl.

 

 “Sometimes,” the Empath answered, looking at Ron with amusement.  

 

Hermione fumed.  She had no right to be amused by her Ron.  He was _her_ idiot!  

 

 “Often it’s less fun.”  Adrianna paused looking over at Hermione.  Her light expression faded.  “So, you all know who I am—”

 

 “On the contrary,” Hermione replied irately, not caring at the moment how nasty her tone was, “we have no idea _who_ you are.”

 

The woman smiled a slow, interested smile.  Hermione fumed.  Harry bit out a warning, “Hermione.”

 

But Adrianna interrupted him, holding out her hand, “Adrianna Potter.”

 

Hermione’s took a hissing breath at the word “Potter,” crossing her arms to show just how much she was _not_ going to allow this woman to touch her.  “Hermione Granger,” she replied heatedly.

 

Ron cleared his throat, shooting Hermione an disapproving glance.  He turned and smiled up at the woman.  He offered his hand like the daft fool that he was.  “Ron Weasley.”  Hermione couldn’t _believe_ he was taking Adrianna’s side over hers.  

 

“Ron!”  Hermione called out, unable to stand it any longer.  “How thick can you be?”

 

“What?”  he bit out, indignantly.  “Hermione, you’re being rather rude.”

 

“Arrgh!”  She fell back into the bed.  Hermione turned her angry eyes to the Empath.  “If you think I’m going to allow you to touch me—”

 

Adrianna’s eyes sparked with challenge.  “What are you afraid of?”

 

Hermione scoffed, replying sarcastically, “That you’ll read my mind.”

 

“I can do that right now.  I don’t need touch to read minds.  It helps, but all I _need_ is emotions and yours are abundant.”  

 

Hermione heard Ron snigger.  His violent murder was interrupted by Madam Pomfrey, when she bustled in carrying a tray full of potions.  “So, many visitors …” she said, placing the potions on Hermione’s far bedside table.  “Oh, my word, you must be Julian Potter’s daughter.  The headmaster just informed us of your arrival.”

 

“Madam,” Adrianna addressed, her posture becoming more formal as she stood and addressed the Healer.

 

 “I knew your father …”

 

Hermione took advantage of Adrianna being drawn into a conversation with Madam Pomfrey at the end of the bed and gestured Harry and Ginny closer.  Ginny sat on the edge of her bed, but Harry refused to move from Ron’s.  Hermione leaned closer to them.  “Harry, you can’t seriously trust this woman?”  she whispered harshly.

 

 “Yeah, actually I do,” he answered in an equally heated tone.  “I mean, I’m not ready to follow her to the ends of the earth but …”  He looked at Ginny.  “Last night Dumbledore showed me a memory in his Pensieve and she _is_ my cousin and she is _not_ working for Voldemort.  I am sure of that, at least.”  

 

Harry seemed to be looking to Ginny to confirm his story.  But Hermione knew that Ginny had not been witness to the events in Dumbledore’s office.  What was that all about?  If Hermione lost Ginny as an ally …

 

 “It _is_ a convincing story, Hermione,” Ginny said with reluctance.

 

Hermione eyed them suspiciously.  When had Ginny heard the story?  She left the hospital wing well after midnight.  Had they sat up together all night?  “Well,” Hermione continued, trying to keep her voice even.  “How do we know Adrianna is working under her own volition, then?  What about the Imperious Curse?”  Hermione tried to find some hint of reason in her friends, but Harry, annoyed, turned his head away from her.

 

 “Look Hermione, I’m suspicious as well,” Ginny said quickly.  “And I know we discussed that possibility last night, but don’t you think she’s awfully … _lively_ , for someone under the Imperious?”  She gestured over to where Adrianna was talking to Madam Pomfrey animatedly.

 

“Oi!”  Ron called furiously.  He leaned over the space between the beds and attacked in a whisper, “Maybe Hermione is just threatened by having another pushy, know-it-all around.  What?  Afraid of the competition?”

 

Harry gave an almost hysterical laugh and Ginny backed away, grabbing Harry to remove him from the line of fire.  Hermione thought that she had never been so angry at a person in her entire life.  How dare he?  After everything, how _dare_ he?  Know-it-all her … _bum_!

 

“Oh, my God!”  Adrianna gasped.

 

All eyes, with the exception of Hermione’s, turned to look beyond the girl’s bed at Adrianna.  Hermione refused to interrupt the glare she had directed at Ron.

 

“These are Avada Kadavra potions!”

 

Hermione turned around with such speed that her ribs and neck cried out in pain.  She looked up at Adrianna with angry confusion.  What was she about now?

 

Adrianna was carefully inspecting Hermione’s healing potions.  She turned and looked the younger girl in the eye, asking in an astonished voice, “Hermione, did you block the Avada Kadavra?”

 

Hermione was dumbstruck.  She shook her head.  “I don’t think so, I mean … it’s not possible to block the Avada Kadavra,” she finished with more confidence.

 

Adrianna was deadly serious when she replied, “Yes, it is.  It’s extremely difficult and requires an awfully powerful witch or wizard, and an even more powerful shield … _but_ it’s possible.  I’ve seen it.  Even so, the result is a person who is almost dead and these,” she picked up the potions for emphasis, “are precisely the potions required to bring that person back.”

 

“But I …” Hermione started, but she didn’t know.  She had no idea what spell Dolohov used on her.  She turned to Madam Pomfrey, who looked distressed.  

 

“I don’t think Professor Dumbledore would—” the Healer was saying.

 

“Would what?  Would want us to know the truth?”  Ron retorted angrily.  His face had the same horrified look it had when he awoke from a nightmare.  

 

Hermione instantly forgave him for everything.     

 

“Well?”  Ron demanded.  The look on Madam Pomfrey’s face was all they needed to confirm Adrianna’s theory.

   

“What shield did you use?”  Adrianna asked with a curious tone.

 

“I, er …” Hermione couldn’t think.  Had she really blocked the Avada Kadavra?  It didn’t seem possible.

 

“She used a silencing charm,” Harry told his cousin, a flat, strange tone to his voice.

 

“And that worked?”  Adrianna seemed surprised.

 

“Nobody’s ever thought of that before?”  Ginny asked incredulously.

 

“Sure, of course, it’s been _thought_ of.  It’s just nobody has had the nerve to test it.  I mean if someone points the Avada Kadavra at me.  I’m getting the hell out of the way.  I’m not going to try something experimental.”

 

“Experimental?”  Ron’s voice broke.  He looked as though he was going to be sick.

 

Adrianna’s expression became more serious.  “I suppose you should take these.  I must say, though, I’m impressed.”  She turned and talked with the Healer as she walked her from the room.

 

Hermione swallowed, taking a deep breath before slowly drinking one foul tasting potion after another.  Ginny had moved over to her brother’s bed.  “All right, Ron?”  He nodded and tried to smile.  Hermione saw him lock gazes with Harry, who had backed away and was standing with his hands in his pockets, looking guilt ridden.

 

Great, this was just great.  “Ron?”  Hermione implored.

 

“Hermione, please, just take your potions,” he replied in a small voice.

 

In that moment, Hermione just wanted everyone to go away.  She wanted it to be just her and Ron.  She needed …

 

Adrianna was back, _unfortunately_.  She sat back in the chair and rummaged through a small bag she had slung over her shoulder.  “Now, I suppose you’d like to see some _good_ books on Empaths?”  she said, as she pulled out a small chest.

 

Hermione frowned as Adrianna tossed the chest to Harry and instructed him to place it on the floor.  Adrianna then pulled out an unusual champagne colored-wand and enlarged the chest to a trunk.  She waved the wand again, and used a spell Hermione didn’t know, transforming the trunk into a bookcase full of books.

 

There was a collective gasp.  Even Hermione was in awe, and she couldn’t help it.  To be able to take all those books out of one’s pocket …

 

Adrianna was looking through the shelves.  “Now this, _The Great Empath Massacre_ , tells the best known history of the events from 1494 to 1520.”  She handed the book to Harry and went to pull out more books.  “ _The Lost Art of Empathy_ is an excellent rendition of the theory and powers of Empathy, and _The Legend and Legacy of The Empath_ tells the best and most complete history of Empaths throughout time, though still mostly post 1520.”  

 

She placed these books on top of the other, in Harry’s outstretched arms.  ”Er ... Adrianna, these aren’t in English,” Harry commented, wide-eyed.

 

 “Yes, well, that’s why they aren’t in your library.  Hermione, what languages do you speak?”

 

“Um, Latin ...  and some French …” Hermione replied hesitantly, feeling excited against her better judgment.

 

“Well, these are in Romanian, German, and Japanese, so ... do you know a good translating spell?”  Hermione shook her head, slowly.  “Ready to learn one?”  Adrianna took one heavy book from Harry’s pile and placed it next to Hermione on the bed.  She put the tip of her wand and her left hand on the book, “ _Ligu Anglase_.”  

 

The letters changed shape and arrangement, finally stopping to form _The Great Empath Massacre_.  Hermione gasped with excitement.  It was a whole new world opening up.  

 

“Would you like to try the others?”  Adrianna asked.

 

Hermione was giddy with the possibility.  She wanted to _so_ badly.  She had to remind herself that she did not trust this woman.  She shouldn’t take anything from her, even a new spell.

 

Hermione nodded her ascent.  It seemed she was physically incapable of turning down the chance to learn a new spell.  She deliberately ignored Ron’s snort, as Adrianna carefully took her through the transformation of the other two books.  

 

“This spell will wear off in a few days.  You can keep the books for now.  They’re all charmed to come back to me when I call, so it’s not a problem,” Adrianna explained when they were done.  Hermione ignored Ginny’s glare as she took the books.  Adrianna went back over at the bookcase.  “But this …” She pulled out a small tattered book and held it out to Hermione.  “This is very important to me, so I’ll need you to be extra careful.”

 

Hermione took it tentatively and preformed the newly learned spell.  The front was a worn purple fabric cover without wording.  The first page was hand written.

 

_Adrianna Molikov_

_Born May 4, 1533_

 

“It’s my ...”  Adrianna began, then paused, looking over at Harry.  “ _Our_ ancestor’s diary, the one that started the Empath line in our family.  It’s quite the family heirloom.”

 

The younger girl carefully turned the pages.  A small drawing fell out and Hermione picked it up.  It was of a young girl of twelve or thirteen.  “She looks like you,” Hermione said murmured absently.

 

“A little.”  Adrianna took the sketch and held it out to Harry.  “This is our great … I don’t know how many greats, great grandmother.”  Harry took it reverently and collapsed on to the side of Ron’s bed.  Adrianna picked out another fabric covered book from her shelves and sat next to Harry.  “ _This_ is my family album.”

 

Ginny and Ron leaned over their shoulders to see as Adrianna flipped quickly through the book.  Harry had a strange, frightened look on his face.  “This is Grandma Isabella and Grandpa Eddy when they were younger.  These are our dads at Christmas when they were kids.  Here’s my parents’ wedding picture.”  

 

She handed the album to Harry.  Hermione thought she saw Harry’s hand shake when he carefully turned the pages.  Adrianna got up, allowing Ginny to sit with Harry, and transformed the bookcase back into a small chest.

 

Hermione ran her hand over the diary, feeling the pull of curiosity.  She was confused, too many emotions warred within her.  “Why are you trusting me with this?”  she asked Adrianna.

 

“Are you not trustworthy?” Adrianna asked casually.  Was it a challenge?

 

“Adrianna,” Ginny called, interrupting the exchange.  “Is this you?”  She pointed to a picture of Lily Potter on her wedding day, holding a little girl’s hand.  Adrianna just nodded.

 

Further questions were interrupted by a clearing throat.  They looked up to see Professor Dumbledore in the middle of the room.  “Miss Potter, if you’d be so kind, there are some people here who would like to meet you.”

 

“Oh.  Sure.”  She looked at Harry and threw him a pained expression before turning back to the professors with a carefully arranged expression of polite seriousness.  She touched Harry’s shoulder as she passed.  “I’ll see you later.”

 

After Adrianna left, Ginny quickly left her place on Ron’s bed to come over to Hermione’s.  “I can’t believe you,” she hissed.

 

“What?”  Hermione clutched the books to her.  But she knew what.  She was weak.  She’d allowed that woman to befuddle her.

 

“Don’t give me that.  One minute you’re all, ‘she’s evil, Harry.  Don’t trust her,’ the next you’re ‘blimey, you have books so you must be honest, steadfast, and true.’ You’re a … you’re a … a _book whore_ , that’s what you are!”

 

Hermione gasped in quiet indignation.  “I am not,” she hissed, though maybe she was.  “You weren’t exactly ‘let’s stand strongly against her.’  Miss ‘it was a convincing story.  She’s _lively_ …’” 

 

“Fine.”  Ginny frowned.  “I just think we need to be careful.  I mean, I hope she’s for real.”  She glanced at Harry.  “But—”

 

“We shouldn’t take it for granted,” Hermione agreed, with some guilt.  She ran a hand over the diary.

 

“Oi, what are you two gossiping about?”  Ron called.

 

“None of your business, Ronald Weasley,” Ginny called back.  Then she whispered to Hermione, “Which reminds me.  Whenever you get a minute free of _that_ one, we need to talk.”

 

Hermione blushed and glanced at Ron.  She couldn’t know about their late night activities, could she?

 

“But for now,” Ginny paused, looking at the door that Adrianna had left through, “I think I should—”

 

“Follow her,” Hermione whispered.

 

“Follow her,” Ginny confirmed, getting up.  “I’ll see you blokes later.  I promised I’d meet Colin for lunch,” she called to the others as she left.

 

“Bye,” Ron called after her, not looking up.

 

Harry gave a distracted grunt, and by the time he looked up she was already gone.  “Oh yeah, I should go as well.”  Harry grabbed the photo album and was out the door before his two remaining friends knew what happened.

 

Hermione looked at Ron.  The pleasant expression faded from his face, indicating that he was done pretending everything was all right.  And there they were.  Alone.  Again.  

 

 

  


* * * * *

 

  


“So, we’re, um, stalking Harry’s cousin, then?”  Colin asked Ginny from their position behind a suit of armor in one of the dark alcoves that lined a Hogwart’s hallways.  

 

“Yes, I _told_ you.  Now, shhh!” Ginny whispered, gritting her teeth and regretting ever involving her friend in her little project.

 

Colin ignored her, sighing melodramatically.  “I’d rather be stalking Harry,” he whined.

 

Ginny rolled her eyes and shot him a menacing glare.  “Harry’s not the one I need to learn information on.  Here, hold this.”  She handed him the receiving portion of her extendable ear as she carefully levitated the other ear to the gargoyle guarding Dumbledore’s office.

 

“Yes, but …” Colin grinned evilly and whispered in her ear.  “I bet she doesn’t have his cute little arse.”

 

Ginny gasped, flushing.  She smacked him on the arm, causing him to wince and laugh simultaneously.  “Colin!” she hissed.  “I have no interest in Harry _or_ his cousin’s arse, not anymore,” she denied, only half lying.

 

Colin was having none of it.  He smiled knowingly, even as he held the ear to his face to listen.  Ginny breathed a sigh of relief, finally able to concentrate on the levitation.  After a few minutes Colin whispered casually, “I know you still look.  I’ve seen you.  It’s only got better over the years.”

 

“What has?”  Ginny asked irritably.  She should have known he wouldn’t give up so easily.

 

“You know what I’m talking about … Harry’s arse.”  Ginny groaned as he began again, “Don’t you think he’s gotten even sexier this last year, all dark and brooding?”

 

Yes, she certainly did think so, and it was driving her crazy.  “No.  I’m done with Harry Potter,” she hissed.

 

Colin laughed softly, “Is _that_ why we’re spying on his cousin, then?”

 

“He’s still my friend,” she protested.  Quickly, she added, “Do you hear anything?”  Ginny’s brow knitted with concentration, trying to block out the teasing.  She levitated the ear around the edges of the entrance.  Damn stone walls.  Why couldn’t Dumbledore have a keyhole like a normal wizard?

 

Colin shook his head as he pressed the receiver to his ear.  “You don’t have a boyfriend anymore and rumor has it Harry’s done with Cho Chang, so … wait,” Colin paused, drawing Ginny’s eager eyes to him.  “I hear …” She stared at him expectantly.  “… a grinding stone?”  He shrugged.         

 

Ginny’s eye’s whipped around and she saw the gargoyle turn and reveal a hidden spiral staircase.  “Oh, oh, voices,” Colin whispered, pressing the receiver against her ear, his face close to hers.

 

“It is so lovely to meet you, Adrianna.  Can’t say what a relief it is to have an Auror of your caliber watching over our dear Harry.”  Ginny made out a distant, familiar, male voice.

 

Adrianna appeared first down the staircase.  “It is my pleasure.”  Her voice betrayed nothing but graciousness, but her expression was one of displeasure.

 

Ginny felt her heart stop when she saw Adrianna pause, as if listening.  The Empath turned and looked directly at the levitated ear.  Ginny grabbed Colin’s arm roughly.  The voices were getting louder and feet were appearing behind Adrianna.

 

Ginny held her breath.  Adrianna looked right at her and smiled.  She snatched the extendable ear out of the air and held it in front of her as she finished her downward climb.  She turned to smile politely to the others as they descended and joined her in the hall.  When no one was looking the woman slipped the ear into her open bag.

 

“Should we go?”  Colin whispered, suddenly sounding anxious, the teasing completely gone from his tone.

 

Ginny shook her head and set her jaw.  She didn’t know what Adrianna was up to, but she would be damned if she wasn’t going to find out.  A challenge had been issued and she was _not_ going to back down.

 

Down the stairs appeared Minister Fudge, followed by Professor Dumbledore, and Professor McGonagall.

  

“So nice of you to contact the Department of Law Enforcement, Albus.  Can’t tell you how excited Carter was.  Kept going on about how talented our young Miss Potter was.”  Fudge talked quickly, with what sounded like forced brightness.

 

“I’m sure those Express Owls from America were a pleasure as well, eh, Cornelius?”  Dumbledore said smiling.

 

“Yes, yes, quiet happy to have you here.”  The Minister laughed nervously.

 

“Can I escort you to your carriage?”  Professor McGonagall asked pointedly.  Fudge looked further flustered, not sure if he was being rushed out.  Ginny suspected that he was.

 

“Do have a lovely trip back.”  Adrianna inclined her head politely.

 

Fudge took it upon himself to grab her hand and shake it vigorously.  “Yes, yes, anything we can do for you at the British Ministry, please let us know.”

 

“I’ll do that.”  

 

“Good day!”  Dumbledore called to their retreating backs as he turned and shared a meaningful look with Adrianna.

 

Oh God, she’s going to give the ear to Dumbledore.  Ginny just knew she was.  She’d have detention on the last week of school.  All because of that—

 

“Snape,” Colin whispered, grabbing her shirt.

 

Ginny’s eyes widened as her eyes flew to her least favorite professor, who was approaching Adrianna and Dumbledore.  She reached over Colin, pressing them both back into the shadows.  Ginny cursed herself for not nicking Harry’s invisibility cloak.

 

Snape walked rapidly toward the headmaster.  Thankfully, he paid no attention to the alcove or its occupants.  “Professor,” Snape greeted Dumbledore stiffly, with a small bow.  “If I could have a moment of your time?”

 

“Of course, Severus, but first.”  Dumbledore graciously gestured toward his guest, “Let me introduce you to Miss Adrianna Potter.”

 

Snape glowered at her, clearly surprised.  “Potter,” he sneered.

 

“Yes, indeed, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”  Adrianna held out her hand, silently challenging him to take it.  The Potion Master extended his hand carefully, as if touching something revolting.  

 

Adrianna expression changed to one of curiosity and then to distress.  She frowned.  “Wow, you’re a sad one aren’t you?  Haven’t felt anything quite like that in a while.”  She took a deep breath.

 

Snape snatched his hand away, realization dawning on his face.  “You’re Julian Potter’s lost daughter … the _Empath_.”  The last part was an accusation.

 

“You don’t have to be this way,” Adrianna said as if he hadn’t said a word.  “Alone, miserable.  This is your choice.”

 

“How dare you!”  he growled in return.

 

“Yeah, well, you’d be amazed at what I dare.”  She shrugged.  “We should talk sometime.”

 

“You imprudent, arrogant—” Ginny had never seen such fury on Snape’s face, which was saying something.  Angry bloke, he was.

 

“Severus,” Dumbledore said insistently, guiding him gently away from Adrianna.  “You needed to speak to me.”  His eyes twinkled at Adrianna as he turned and followed Snape up the stairs.

 

Adrianna turned toward Ginny, raising her eyebrows she fingered the extendable ear.  Ginny steeled herself as the woman began to approach her.  Now what was she going to do?  

 

 

           

  


* * * * *

 


	6. Too Far

Shite. Shite. Shite. Ginny was in for it now. 

She stood up as straight as she could. Shoulders back, chin up, Ginny told herself to stop panicking. Adrianna was going to know if she kept panicking and then all her subtle ruse would be for nothing. She was going to have to learn to control her emotions if the Empath was going to be around for awhile. 

Adrianna approached Ginny and Colin, who stood in the alcove across the hallway from Dumbledore’s office. Once she had reached the two students, she pulled Ginny’s extendable ear out of her bag. “What’s this?” she asked looking at them with an unreadable expression. 

Ginny tilted her chin up and clenched her teeth, letting herself feel anger, determination, stubbornness. Trying to transmit anything but fear, she met the Empath’s eyes with every ounce of courage she had. 

The staring must have gone on for far too long for Colin’s taste, because he sighed loudly, saying with exaggeration, “It’s an extendable ear. Ginny’s brothers invented them.” Ginny’s narrowed eyes flew to her friend and glared at him. Bringing him was a really stupid idea. 

Adrianna’s gaze also went to the blond boy. She examined the ear and gave a soft almost bitter chuckle, saying under her breath, “Ah, yes, the ever talented Weasleys.” 

She looked back up at Ginny and offered the devise back to her with an outstretched hand. “You should be more careful with that. You don’t want Professor Glower over there to find it. Something tells me that it wouldn’t go over too well with him.” 

Ginny swallowed, staring at the ear for a moment before she took it and tucked it into her pocket. She watched Adrianna warily as the witch turned to consider Colin more carefully. “You must be a friend of Ginny’s.” 

Colin extended his hand. Ginny remembered how Ron had done that just as easily. Were all boys trusting fools? 

Shaking Adrianna’s hand, with an only slightly limp wrist, Ginny’s blond friend offered, “Colin Creevey, and you are Harry’s cousin.” He looked her over appraisingly. He tilted his head to the side to look at the woman’s backside, making Ginny close her eyes in mortification. Colin nodded with appreciation. “I see the resemblance.” 

Adrianna laughed full out. “You’re a fan of Harry’s, I see.” 

Colin was unabashed when he admitted, “His biggest. So, you’re an Empath, then?” Ginny didn’t like the gleam in his eye. 

“Yeah …” Adrianna said carefully, clearly amused by Ginny’s friend. 

“So,” Colin continued, with false innocence. “You must know, say, the hidden sexual leaning of a certain brooding, green-eyed bloke we know …”

Ginny knew that the floor was going to open up and eat her alive. She couldn’t believe she thought bringing Colin was a good idea. She should have brought Neville, or Luna, or anyone. Malfoy would have been a better idea. 

Adrianna stifled a laugh. “Sorry, I’ve got a strict policy about interfering in matters of the heart. Good luck with that though.” She turned to look at Ginny, “So, eh …you learn anything with that ear thingy?” 

Ginny shrugged. No reason to hide anything at this point. Adrianna would know if she lied. “Not really,” she answered with bitterness. 

“Do you want to?” 

“Want to what?” she asked warily. 

Adrianna rolled her eyes. “Know what happened in the meeting. Walk with me and I’ll fill you in.” 

Ginny narrowed her eyes. This had to be a trick. No one had ever given Ginny information willingly. “Why?” 

Adrianna gestured her head away from the alcove. “Come on, and I’ll tell you.” 

Ginny knew she shouldn’t go. The Empath was trying to bribe her. She had read her and knew that knowledge would be the ultimate prize. And damn it, it was working. Ginny nodded. 

“Ginny?” Colin asked as they started to walk away. 

Ginny glared at him, making it clear with her expression that she was not bringing the-boy-who-could-do-nothing-but-talk-about-Harry’s-arse with them. “See you later, Colin.” 

Adrianna waved at the boy, stifling laughter, and making Ginny want to hit her. “He’s sweet,” she remarked lightly. 

Ginny practically growled at the older woman. “Why are you offering this? What do you want from me?” 

Adrianna was unruffled. “Ginny, I’m here to protect you. We need to work together. Why would I keep information from you?” 

Ginny slowed, looking warily around the hallway as they walked. She whispered, “You’re here to protect Harry, not me.” 

“I thought I made it clear that he was only part of it.” 

“Yes, and Ron and Hermione. I remember.” Ginny sighed with exasperation, why did people keep putting her with those three. She wasn’t a part of them. She knew that painfully well. 

“Hmm, so that’s how it is then,” Adrianna remarked, not looking at her. “I believe what I said was, I’m here to protect Ron and Hermione … as well as Harry and you.” 

Ginny froze in the middle of the entrance way to the castle, her heart beating wildly. “Why me?” 

Adrianna laughed, “Like I know. Unfortunately, whether we like it or not, this fight is your Destiny.” 

Ginny shook her head. She had it all wrong. Ginny forced herself to start walking again. “Harry’s the one with the Destiny, not me.” 

“Everyone has a Destiny, Ginny.” Adrianna glanced at her as she led her outside into the garden. “Harry’s is a little grander then most and yours is fundamentally tied to his.” 

Ginny was already breathing fast and her heart skipped a beat. Fundamentally tied with his. That’s not what she meant. She’s talking about the war, not Harry’s love life. 

“I do not fancy Harry Potter.” She chanted to herself. “I do not! Not anymore.” “In what way is my Destiny tied to his?” Ginny asked anyway, holding her breath. 

Adrianna shrugged lightly. “It’s not clear yet.” 

“It’s not clear yet?” she repeated quietly, dripping with sarcasm. 

“Sorry, that’s how these things work.” 

“Well, that’s convenient isn’t it?” Ginny bit out bitterly. 

“Not really. Let’s walk by the woods where it’s more private.” Adrianna didn’t wait for an answer, merely led her away from the castle. 

Ginny scrambled to catch up as thoughts flew through her head. “This Destiny thing, does it have to do with Voldemort?” Or did it have anything to do with Harry falling madly in love with her? 

Adrianna nodded. “Oh yes, that much is clear.” 

Ginny’s heart skipped a beat. 

Adrianna laughed, “Yes, to the one you said out loud … the other, well, as I told Colin, I learned a long time ago not to give away the answers to those kinds of questions. That you’ll have to figure out on your own.” 

“So you know the answer to that question?” Ginny pressed, her heart running rampant. They were talking about the same thing? 

All Ginny got for her efforts were a nod and a short, “Of course.” 

Ginny waited for Adrianna to continue, her frustration growing. She just wished Adrianna would tell her Harry was meant to be with someone else. Then she could move on or something, not that she hadn’t all ready moved on. “You said I needed information so … you should tell me—”

Adrianna smiled at her. “You know that this is different. Good try though.” 

Ginny crossed her arms, knowing she was sulking. She refused to look at the woman she was walking with, angry and upset at the fact that this woman now knew how she felt about Harry. And how Harry felt about her. It was bloody humiliating. 

They reached the woods. “So, do you want to know about what happened in Dumbledore’s office or what?” Adrianna asked. 

Trying to remember her pride, Ginny said defiantly, “So, tell me, then.” 

There was that annoying laugh again. “Well, as you saw, your lovely Minster of Magic requested to see me.” Adrianna sighed, growing serious. “He’s not very bright. The man came to Dumbledore’s office after talking to his Aurors. He knows I’m an Empath and he purposely comes to see me, to lie to me.” Adrianna seemed genuinely annoyed. “I’ve been a magical lie detector since I was four. How does this man run an entire magical nation?” 

Ginny told herself she was not allowed to be amused or swayed by this woman. “Not very well,” she replied, carefully. “Why did he come here?” 

“Damage control,” Adrianna stated easily. “He was worried about what I might do. So, he came to convince me that he’s Harry’s bestest best friend and we should all work together in harmony.” 

“Git,” Ginny muttered under her breath. Her disgust with the Minister of Magic grew by the day. “What was he afraid of?” Perhaps that she’d lead to their destruction, she thought sarcastically. 

“Please, he’s not that smart, or unselfish. No, he’s afraid I might get him thrown from power.” The woman spoke as if it were an ordinary everyday thing to do. 

Ginny felt a shot of fear, but pushed it aside and scoffed, “He’s paranoid.” 

“Yes, but not this time.” Adrianna was deadly serious. “I have a lot of powerful friends all over the world, Ginny. I’ve done a lot of favors. Those letters you heard McGonagall mention, they were from the MIA, the Magical Intelligence Agency of America. Close cousin of the CIA, for whom I’m still on the payroll. I can guarantee the letters held thinly veiled threats.” 

Ginny’s heart rate sped up again. She took a deep breath. “Would you really try to dispose the Minister of Magic?” Adrianna couldn’t really have that kind of power, could she? 

“No,” Adrianna shook her head, and then shrugged. “Well, not at the moment. Fudge is stupid and selfish, but not evil. I have no intention of bothering with him at all. Not unless he becomes dangerous.” 

Ginny didn’t know what to think. She hated Fudge, wanted him out of power. But that a stranger could show up, a foreigner, and remove the most powerful wizard in Great Britain …

Adrianna stopped, looking at her carefully, almost sadly. “Well, I think that might be enough information for now. When you have more questions, I’ll be around. I think I had better check up on Harry.” 

“Er …” Ginny muttered, flustered. “Do you want me to help look for him?”

“Nah, he’s out by the lake brooding, again.” 

Again that familiar fear. “How do you know?” 

“He’s a giant ball of grief and fury. He kind of broadcasts. If I piss him off and he tells me to take a flying leap, I’ll let you know,” Adrianna offered. 

Ginny shook her head, swallowing. “We don’t have that kind of relationship.” 

“Don’t you?” Adrianna said lightly as she walked off. 

As she disappeared over the hill, Ginny knew that their conversation had left her with more questions than answers. 

 

* * * * *

 

Ron seethed. As soon as Harry left, he had purposefully turned his body away from Hermione. He avoided her best he could, his body tense, his jaw clenched. At first, there were these sweet soft pleas for him to talk to her. Velvety little ‘Ron’s that sent shivers up his spine and rage through his veins. 

Ron wished Hermione would just have the bloody courtesy to yell at him. His body itched with the need to finish the fight they had started before they were interrupted by Adrianna’s announcement about the potions …

Shite. He did not want to think about that. Ron felt nausea so intense that he gagged. Hermione had been hit by the Avada Kadavra. She tried to block it with … how could she be so bloody fucking stupid! 

Ron’s fists clenched and he knew if there was someone in the room he could punch, he would beat them to a bloody pulp. If he got his hands onto Hermione … he’d squeeze her so tight, she’d have bruises the next morning. Then he’d never forgive himself. 

So, Ron kept his eyes tightly shut. He ignored Hermione’s rustling and page flipping. He thought he had even heard a sniffle at one point, and he hadn’t cared. He actually thought, “Good, let her cry her bleeding heart out.” Maybe then she’d get some sense and stop throwing herself in the path of danger. 

Madam Pomfrey bustled in with lunch trays. Once the Healer left and Ron was sitting up with the tray before him, Hermione seemed to think it was the perfect opportunity to try again. 

“Ron, please. Talk to me.” Hermione’s voice was so entreating, so soft and sweet. A couple of hours ago the anger was coming off her in waves. Ron preferred that. 

When he didn’t answer, her tone took on more of a chiding tone. “Ron, you are behaving like a child.” 

Ron ignored her best he could, taking a bite of his sandwich. It stuck in his throat. He drained a glass of pumpkin juice to force it down. A wave of nausea followed. 

Hermione again changed her tactic. “You know I didn’t do anything wrong. I don’t deserve this treatment,” she said logically. 

Ron was going to be sick, he was sure of it. When he tried to take another bite of his sandwich his stomach contracted painfully and he tasted bile. He lifted the tray and put it on the floor. Once again, Ron lay down, turning away from Hermione. 

“That’s enough!” Finally, Hermione sounded annoyed. When she started to yell, maybe he’d be satisfied. “If you won’t talk to me, then …” 

Ron heard the unmistakable sound of Hermione trying to get out of bed. Panic coursed through him, joining the anger, and setting him in motion. Ron was up and by her side before he had time to think about it. 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Ron snapped furiously. He grabbed her ankles and roughly swung them back onto the bed. He barely spared a thought for touching the previously forbidden body part. “You are not supposed to be out of bed.” 

For a moment, Hermione was limp with shock, staring at her legs, then Ron in turn. That changed in an instant. Ron tried to push her shoulders back on the bed and she hit his chest angrily. “Ron, get your ruddy hands off me.” 

His hands fell away, satisfied that she was bed-bound at least, but it was too late to stop him entirely. Once Ron had taken motion he wasn’t to be stopped. He slammed her food tray in front of her. “You are sick. You need to eat,” he commanded. He felt agitated, restless. 

“Oh, that’s rich! You’re sick as well. What’s your excuse?” Hermione was breathing quickly, shoving her tray off of her legs. 

“I didn’t get hit by the Avada Kadavra,” Ron ground out. He wished he had something to hit. Instead, he turned his attention to Hermione’s bedside, where the dozen or so potion vials sat. “Did you drink all your potions?” He picked them up one by one and shook them to make sure they were empty, slamming them down when he was through. 

“Of course I did! Ron, please, stop, you’re acting mad.” Hermione reached out and grasped his forearm, but he shook her off. 

That’s right, he was absolutely barmy. He had gone completely around the bend. It didn’t feel so bad, really. “I told you to eat.” 

“Ron, you’re going to break something.” 

He hoped so, he really did. 

“Ron! I took all my potions. I’m fine.” Her voice was rational, caring. “This is about what Adrianna said, about the spell ... about the Av—”

Ron froze. “I do not want to talk about that, Hermione.” 

“Well I do!” she yelled back. 

“Fine you want to talk, let’s talk.” Ron took a breath, feeling better. Finally, he was going to get the row he needed. “Let’s talk about how you belittle and insult me in front of people. Or maybe, let’s talk about how nasty and rude you were to Harry’s cousin.” 

Ron saw the flame light in her eyes. That’s it, love. Let go. Let him have it. 

Hermione started off quietly, calmly, but he could see the fire lurking below the surface. “I did not belittle you, Ron. I was just trying to—”

No, Ron wanted the fire. “What? Make it absolutely clear that you think I’m a thick-headed git?” 

“No. I didn’t …” Hermione’s voice rose, “Maybe if you didn’t—”

“Didn’t what?” 

“Didn’t act like a thick-headed git!” 

“Excuse me!” 

“Come on, Ron you walked right into her trap—” Hermione was really shouting now. 

“What trap? There was no trap.” 

“There could have been.” 

“She’s Harry’s cousin, Hermione.” 

“She is a stranger, Ronald! 

“Did it ever occur to you that maybe Harry needed us to be supportive? That he might want his best mates to get along with his family?” 

That caused her to still, taken aback, contemplative. He couldn’t have that. He didn’t want to be heard. Ron went in for the kill. “But what did you do, Hermione? Huh? You attacked her as soon as she walked through the door. Then you attack me when I try to be civil to her.” 

Hermione was sputtering with fury. That’s his girl. “This isn’t about Harry,” she said, her voice like ice. “This is about you trying to impress a pretty woman.” 

Ron laughed out loud. “You can do better than that!” 

“Don’t you deny it! Whenever an attractive woman looks at you, you turn into a daft puppy dog, ready to lick her face.” 

“I have never—”

“Fleur,” Hermione hissed, crossing her arms. 

“Fleur was part veela. She was using her powers. What’s your excuse? Lockhart?” 

Hermione huffed. “He was a teacher.” 

“I don’t see you mooning after Snape.” 

“I didn’t moon … this isn’t the point.” 

“No.” Ron took the shift in stride. He didn’t pause for a breath. “The point is that Harry needed our support and all you cared about was being right!” 

“How dare you! I care about Harry! I care enough to worry about some ultra powerful seductress—”

“Seductress! Ha!” 

“—who could very well be taking advantage of him. Who could be working for the enemy! But you’re too thick to think about that!” 

“I’m thick, eh? Well, maybe I am thick, but at least I’m smart enough to not throw my suspicions in someone’s face.” 

“No, instead, you offered yourself to Adrianna on a silver platter.” 

“Come on! By the end, you trusted her well enough. Oh, but then she reads, so she must be a good person.” 

“I did not—”

Ron was on a roll. He grabbed one of the books and waved it at her. “At least I don’t think books are more important than people!” He stormed across the room and threw it in the trash bin. 

Hermione had enough. She swung her feet over the side of her bed and started to rise for the first time since the Department of Mysteries. 

“Hermione,” Ron warned, fear mixing with anger. “I told you to stay in bed.” 

“You know what, Ron? I’m a little tired of your commands.” She struggled to her feet unsteadily. For a moment their eyes met across the room, in stubborn battle. Hermione took an unsteady step toward him and clutched her side in pain. 

“Hermione, I told you …” Ron was by her side in two long strides. He gripped her by the arms trying to guide her to sit, but this time Hermione wasn’t letting him put her to bed so easily. 

“No. I’m fine! Get your hands off me, you great brute!” She struggled to dislodge him, pushing at his arms. 

“Are you trying to kill yourself?” he bellowed, breathing heavily. Ron was having trouble thinking clearly. Didn’t she care that she was sick, that she had almost died? Why did she keep risking herself? Ron struggled with her grasping arms. Frustrated, he bent his legs and wrapped both arms around her waist. He stood, lifting her off the ground. 

“Get off of me, you oaf.” Hermione pounded his shoulders and back. 

Ron tried to gently lay her down, but she wouldn’t stop wriggling. He put one knee on the bed with her, using the leverage to try to make her lay back. “Bloody hell! Stop moving!” 

“You’re hurting me!” 

“If you would stop …” Ron wrestled her down, pinning her to the bed with his body. To still her, he grabbed her wrists and trapped them above her head. 

Hermione froze and Ron suddenly realized the position they were in. The bulk of his weight was off to her side so he wouldn’t crush her, but … his chest was pressed against her and one long leg restrained both of hers. Their faces were barely an inch apart. It was just a good thing his pelvis wasn’t pressed against her … he certainty didn’t want her to feel that. 

Ron was acutely aware of every place where his body touched hers. And he had never been so turned on in his life. He met Hermione’s eyes for a brief moment, but she quickly averted hers. That moment had been enough. Had Ron seen desire in her eyes? Did he know what desire looked like? 

Her breath was coming in quick little pants against his lips. They were so close to his. Shite. Ron was going to kiss her. 

His body shook with the force it took to keep his lips off hers. Ron wasn’t ready for this. He didn’t know if this is what he wanted. He could almost feel her lips, just a hair’s breath away. 

Fuck, Ron knew he wanted this. He just didn’t know if he wanted what it would mean. If he kissed Hermione it would change everything. One way or another they could never go back. Did he want that? Did Hermione want that? It was a sobering thought. 

For the first time, Ron realized how egotistical he was being. He had Hermione physically restrained while he decided what he wanted. Fuck, he was practically forcing her and she … she couldn’t even look at him. 

Hermione had almost died and he was hurting her, trying to decide if he should force himself on her. It was practically rape. Self- loathing coursed through him. 

Ron wrenched himself off her with such force that he staggered to the other side of the room. He found a sink and crouched over it, splashing water on his face. He had to get his body under control. 

“Ron,” he heard Hermione call softly, from a great distance. 

A litany was repeating in his head. She had been hit by the killing curse. She was in pain. He had taken advantage of her. He ... 

Ron felt the bile rise in his throat along with the self-hatred. He clutched at the sink as what little he had of lunch came back up. He heard Hermione call his name again as he fell to his knees and pressed his burning cheek against the cold sink. 

“Damn it, Ron. Are you all right?” He saw, out of the corner of his eye, Hermione swing her legs over the side of the bed again. 

“I’m fine. Please, just bloody well stay put.” Ron instantly regretted his harsh words. “I’m sorry, Hermione.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “I’m so sorry.” 

He vaguely heard her call for Madam Pomfrey, who rushed in and hovered over him for long minutes, asking him questions. Finally, he said to her, “Madam, my arms are burning. Do you think I could have that healing bath you mentioned before?” 

The Healer nodded. As she led him to an adjoining room for a bath, Ron felt a rush of relief at being extricated from Hermione’s intense gaze. 

He just hoped she could forgive him. 

 

* * * * *

 

Harry decided not to respond when Adrianna called to him across the lawn. He just continued to clutch the photo album between his chest and knees. He stared out at the lake. It was his new favorite pastime. 

Why couldn’t Adrianna leave him alone? He couldn’t … he didn’t want to be cheered up. He didn’t want to hear any more stories, about people he never met, about memories he couldn’t share. Harry stiffened as she sat next to him. If he thought “Go Away” really loud, would she go? 

“You’re holding on to that album as if your life depended on it,” Adrianna said casually. A barely perceptible shrug was all he had to offer. “Something you see in there upset you?” 

What could possibly upset him? Maybe, oh, everything, every smiling face he would never meet or would never see again. Harry’s jaw clenched and his eyes stung. 

Adrianna persisted despite his silence. “Did you have any questions about any of the pictures?” 

All of them, but Harry didn’t want to hear it … he couldn’t. She should understand that. If Adrianna knew how he felt, then she should leave. She should know that he needed to be alone, but she didn’t leave and one question was consuming him. When Harry finally spoke, it sounded more like an accusation. “You knew Sirius.” 

“We met.” 

“There’s a picture of him holding you and laughing.” Harry refused to look at her. 

“I was, like, six-years old in that picture, Harry.” 

“You kept it, it meant something to you.” 

“True. Sirius and I weren’t the only people in that picture. He was your father’s best friend. It makes sense that we met.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Harry kept his voice even and cold. 

“Did you want to hear that last night?” Adrianna asked softly. 

“Yes.” 

“Liar.” It was said in a matter-of-fact way, without indictment. 

“You knew him,” Harry repeated. 

“Some. Not like you did.” 

“You should have told—”

“Harry, I won’t fight with you. I know anger is easier, but I’m not taking the bait.” 

Fine. That was just great. Could she go away then? Please. “What do you know about anything?” 

“I know about dead fathers.” 

Harry choked. Who said things like that? 

“I didn’t tell you the story about what convinced my mother to let me got back to witchcraft school.” 

“I don’t want to hear anymore stories.” 

“You need to hear this one.” 

Harry closed his eyes and buried them in his knees, shielding himself by becoming a tight ball. He didn’t loosen his hold on his photo album. 

Adrianna began her story leisurely. “The summer after my father died, I had my first vision.” 

Harry didn’t understand why she was torturing him. 

“In my vision my father came to me.” She took a deep breath. “He told me that he needed me to go on and fight my curse. He had always said that we would find a way to get past the expiration date thing. He told me not to turn my back on magic, and that he would always be with me … all that sort of sappy stuff.” 

Harry still wouldn’t look at her. He refused to bend, though tears pooled in his eyes. 

“So, you see, it really didn’t matter what my mother said. I was going back to school.” 

Please, Harry silently begged. He couldn’t hear any more. 

Adrianna continued to ignore his unspoken pleas. “I believe that my visions are my father’s way of steering me through life.” She paused. “I could be wrong. Maybe it’s just a scared little girl’s way of deluding herself, but even if it is … it’s what I believe.” 

Harry groaned, a bitter strangled sound. He wanted to scream. Why was she doing this to him? How could this possibly help? Adrianna knew her father. Harry never had, never would. And now she was blathering on about how she got to keep her father with her. Well, that’s just bloody fantastic for her. Harry didn’t have shite. 

“Just wait, Harry. I’m just getting to the good part.” 

He wanted to hit her. 

“Four days ago,” Adrianna continued. “I had another vision. This time, it was Sirius who was talking to me.” 

Harry gasped, his heart clenching. His eyes finally left their hiding place, fixing on her with a sharp jerk. He hoped she could feel his fury. Harry found her looking back at him with crystal clear eyes, his father’s eyes. “I think I heard your parents’ voices too. They told me ... pleaded with me to take care of you for them. So, just like my mother, you don’t have a choice. I am going to honor their wishes.” 

Harry sobbed, turning away again, shaking his head. 

“Harry, I believe that Sirius is happy where he is. He’s with your father. The only thing that is keeping him from being at peace is missing and worrying about you. So, he sent me to you to take care of you.” 

“I don’t ...” He choked on the wave of grief. Harry felt an arm come around his shoulder and he wanted to pull away, but instead he felt himself leaning into her. When the fight finally left him, his cousin put her other arm around him and laid her cheek on his head. 

It hurt so much. Harry missed him so much. 

“He misses you, too.” 

The dam broke and sobs wracked his body. Adrianna quietly rocked him until he had no more tears to give. 

 

* * * * *


	7. Distinctions

Hermione didn’t know how long after Ron left that she lay sobbing into her pillow.  She did know that she had _never_ felt so alone or so _ugly_ in her life.  And _that_ was saying something.

 

She heard someone calling her.  Though the pillow muffled the sound, a soft concerned voice said, “Bloody hell, Hermione, what’s wrong?”  

 

Hermione froze, clutching the pillow to her face.  She recognized that voice.  Ginny.  Great, this was just great.  One more person to witness her humiliation.  Ron’s sister, nonetheless.  She was never taking her head out of this pillow.

 

“Come on, Hermione …” Ginny wheedled, as she gently attempted to peal the pillow away from her face.  But Hermione was feeling childish and defiant and gripped it to herself fiercely, shaking her head.  Couldn’t she be allowed to morn the death of her dreams in peace?  

 

“Hermione, will you please ...”  There was an edge of impatience in Ginny’s tone as she took control of the tug-a-war and wrenched the pillow away violently, leaving Hermione’s head to fall on the hard bed, bereft.  

 

“All right, there, Hermione?”  Ginny asked in an amused tone.  Then she seemed to see the misery on Hermione’s face and the tears that, despite her best efforts, she couldn’t control.  A worried look came over the Ginny’s face, and she scanned the room, finally asking anxiously, “Where’s Ron?”

 

Hermione rolled over and looked up at Ginny.  “He’s fine,” she said wretchedly.  It sounded like a whine.  Hermione Granger did _not_ whine.  Damn Ron Weasley!  Hermione reached for the pillow again and Ginny scowled at her, tossing the pillow across the room.  Damn _Weasleys_ , a curse on their ginger heads!

 

“Hermione,” Ginny demanded, “ _where_ is my brother?”

 

She squeezed her eyes shut.  “He’s taking a bath.”  Hermione had a clear image of Ron’s lanky form bent over the water basin.  She made him sick.  He couldn’t get away from her fast enough.  Fresh tears leaked around her closed lids.

 

“Then what’s the matter?  Does this have to do with Sirius or …?”

 

“No, no.”  Hermione took a deep breath to calm herself.  She opened her eyes and swiped her face with open palms.  “It’s nothing that _significant_.”

 

“Then what?”  The younger girl asked softly.  The concern in her voice made Hermione’s tears fall anew.  She shook her head and looked away.  “Just tell me,” Ginny insisted.

 

“It’s just …” Hermione clenched her jaw.  Ginny probably wasn’t the best person to tell, given her relation, but who else was there?  Considering her words carefully, Hermione softly explained, “I made Ron sick, is all.”

 

Ginny actually laughed.  “What?  Don’t be silly, the last thing you make Ron is _sick_.  Barmy, maybe.”

 

The laugh was _not_ reassuring, though suddenly Hermione had the need to make Ginny appreciate the severity of the situation.  “You don’t understand.  I made him sick, _literally_.”

 

“Hermione,” Ginny scoffed, shaking her head disbelievingly.

 

“No, Ginny,” she said urgently.  “He …” Hermione faltered, unable to get the words out.  “He was going to … I mean, it looked like … I thought he was going to kiss me—”

 

Ginny squealed, “Oh my God, that’s so—”

 

“Then he wretched in the sink.”  Hermione was surprised at her own matter-of-fact tone.

 

“What?”  Ginny let out one giggle, then bit her lip to still the rest.  

 

Hermione frowned at her.  That’s right, laugh.  It was _right_ hysterical.  She no longer gave a care for the tears pouring down her cheeks.  She deserved a good cry.  It was all over, all her hopes.  How could she ever have thought there was a chance with Ron?  Why would he be attracted to her?  Why would anyone?

 

Ginny searched Hermione’s face, the humor fading from the younger girl’s expression.  “All right, start over.  There’s got to be more to the story than _that_.”

 

Yeah, Hermione thought, Ron also thought she was a self-centered egomaniac and he hated her.  Oh, and she might possibly be in love with him, so she was probably going to spend the rest of her life as a pitiful old maid surrounded by cats and dusty old books.  Yes, that about summed up the situation.

 

Ginny pulled up a chair and leaned over, placing a hand on Hermione’s and squeezing.  Her tone was genuine and intent.  “Look, I know my brother.  That doesn’t make sense.  Start from the beginning and don’t leave anything out.”

 

Since she had no pride left, and no one else to tell, Hermione recounted the events to Ginny.  She couldn’t help but shudder at the horrible things she and Ron had said to one another.  A few hours ago, she would have sworn that Ron was lashing out because he had been afraid for her, because she had almost died.  Now …

 

What if he _didn’t_ really care that much?  What if he really meant all the terrible things he said to her?

 

“… so he was kind of lying half on top of me, his lips practically …” Hermione took a lungful of air.  “Then he was gone, across the room, bent over the sink, vomiting.  Next thing I knew he was asking Madam Pomfrey for a bath.  He couldn’t get away from me fast enough.”

 

“Oh, Hermione—”

 

Great.  Pity.

 

“—I’m certain—”

 

“Certain what, Ginny?  What else could it _possibly_ be?  Ron found himself in a place of physical intimacy with me and it made him sick.”  Hermione was proud that she had sounded so logical.  It made her feel more herself, even if herself _was_ miserable.

 

“No,” Ginny said firmly, shaking her head.  “I don’t believe it.”

 

Hermione rolled her eyes.  “It _happened_.”

 

“Look, he’s ill.  You’re in the bloody hospital for God’s sake.  He was feeling sick.  That’s why he didn’t eat lunch.  He was all worked up over the whole Avada Kadavrathing, worried about _you_.  You two wrestled …” Ginny gave a suggestive eyebrow raise. “He felt like he was going to hurl, so in a rare moment of consideration he got off of you,” Ginny couldn’t resist another leer for emphasis, “so he wouldn’t be sick _on_ you.  Then he was so humiliated he skittered on out of here.   _That_ sounds more like the Ron we know and love.”

 

Hermione shook her head despondently.  “Thanks, Ginny, but I don’t think so.”  She refused to acknowledge that the panicked emptiness she had been feeling had lessened.  It was too tempting to believe her, too dangerous.

 

“I _know_ so,” Ginny responded confidently.

 

Talking helped.  The desperate misery was gone and Hermione felt calmer.  Now she felt the sudden need to change the subject, to have a moment of distance.  Hermione dried her eyes and asked, “So, what did you want to talk about?”

 

Ginny’s eyes widened.  She seemed thrown by the question.  “Oh, I … I, um, just came by to help with research and tell you about spying—”

 

“No, before, you said you wanted to talk without Ron.”  Hermione looked at her curiously.  Ginny was acting strange all of a sudden.  

 

“Oh, _that_.”  Ginny gave a great show of nonchalance.  It wasn’t fooling anyone.  “Yeah … er maybe this isn’t the best time.”  

 

“What is it?”  Hermione insisted.  Ginny wilted under her demanding gaze.  “Look, after what I just told you—”

 

That got her.  Guiltily, Ginny defended herself, “I just thought that now might not be the best time to ask you for advice about boys.”

 

Hermione sighed and was actually able to smile at her own expense.  “Ginny, it’s never a smart time to ask _me_ for advice on boys.”

 

Ginny scoffed.  “You’ve just had a bad day.”

 

Hermione harrumphed.  Her experience with boys consisted of following around her two best friends and watching them fall for _other_ girls.  Even Viktor didn’t count as experience.  She let Ron believe it was more than it ever was.  Really, it was nothing more than a casual friendship.  “So, is this about Michael?” Hermione prompted.

 

“No, we’re over.”  Ginny wrinkled her nose and lowered her voice with embarrassment.  “It’s about Dean Thomas.”

 

“ _Dean Thomas_?”  the older girl exclaimed, truly shocked.

 

“Shhh!  I don’t want Ron to know.”

 

Hermione lowered her voice.  “You fancy Dean?”  

 

“I dunno, maybe.  He fancies me.”

 

Of course, he fancied _her_.  What wasn’t to fancy about Ginny Weasley?  “Really?  How do you know?”

 

“Well, he kinda kissed me.”  Ginny cringed and bit her lip, waiting for Hermione’s reaction.

 

She blinked at her.  Truth was Hermione didn’t know how to react.  She was still stuck on the simple fact that Dean kissed Ginny.  Didn’t almost kiss her.  Didn’t yank himself off of her and vomit.  But _kissed_ her, like a normal boy and a normal girl.  He kissed her.  That’s what boys do when a girl’s pretty and funny and nice to be around.  When they’re kissable.  When they're somebody like Ginny.  

 

“When?”  Hermione managed to ask.

 

If possible, Ginny looked even guiltier.  “Last night in his dorm room.”

 

“Ginny!”  Hermione cried out in astonishment and maybe a tiny bit of envy.  She quickly asked in a hushed tone.  “What in the world were you doing in his dorm room?”

 

“It’s not like _that_.  I was looking for Harry … just to talk, ask him what happened with Adrianna, you know, and Dean found me.”  Ginny paused and Hermione gave her an expectant look.  “I was pulling back the curtain of his bed … how was I supposed to know which one was his?  Anyhow, Dean assumed I was looking for him and he cornered me and … kissed me.”

 

“Wow.”  It was almost romantic in an odd sort of way.  Hermione couldn’t believe that she was actually jealous of being cornered and kissed in the boys’ dorm.  It was almost funny.  Wouldn’t everyone be shocked if they knew?  “Do you fancy him?”

 

Ginny looked off in the distance, suddenly contemplative.  Hermione wondered what the hesitation was.  “I don’t know, last night it was exciting and _sexy_ —”

 

“Ginny!”  Hermione gasped, laughing.

 

She gave a saucy smirk and Hermione couldn’t help but grin back, vicariously sharing in her friend’s thrill.  It would be all the thrills she’d be getting for a while.

 

“So,” Ginny said as if starting the conversation anew, “what do you think about Dean Thomas?”

 

Hermione sat back, relaxing.  What did she think about Dean Thomas?  It was a difficult question, as she hadn’t spent much time thinking about him at all.  “He’s nice,” she offered.

 

Ginny’s lip twitched.  “Nice, huh.  That’s the best you can do?”

 

Hermione shrugged and said apologetically, “At least I can’t come up with anything negative to say.”

 

Ginny smirked at her and said playfully, “So, what’s it like to walk around with blinders on?  Not able to see anyone but my brother?”

 

“I see Harry, as well,” Hermione replied in a tiny voice.  Though not in the same way.  She was too pathetic.

 

“Hey, Hermione.  Just talk to him.  He adores you.  I know it.  He’s, er …” Ginny tapped her finger lightly and looked up saying softly, “He’s here.”

 

Hermione turned to watch Ron shuffle in with wet hair and a downtrodden expression.  He was busy rubbing his hair vigorously with a small towel.  When he saw Ginny, he paused, mid rub.  He looked at his sister with a worried expression.

 

He was worried about what they were talking about.  Oh dear.  Hermione had betrayed him to his only sister.  He’d be humiliated if he knew.  What kind of person was she?  She’d never once thought of that.  Did that make her a horrible person?

 

Then Ron’s gaze met hers for the briefest second.  The rage that had filled his blue eyes before was gone.  Now the bright depths were full of despair and … possibly shame.  And Hermione knew she _was_ a horrible person.  She hoped it was shame.  Shame meant that Ginny could be right and she might still hold a chance.

 

Ron shifted his feet, eyes on the ground.  When he broke the silence it was to ask, “Ginny, er … could you give me and Hermione a minute alone?  Please?”

 

Hermione swallowed as her anxiety rose.  Did he want Ginny gone so that he could let her down gently?  She heard his voice in her head.  “I’m sorry, Hermione, I didn’t know you felt that way.  I’m sorry but I can’t …”

 

Ginny was making some excuse as she left.  Hermione barely heard her.  When she passed her brother, she turned to mouth “he’s embarrassed” and give Hermione an encouraging smile.  Ginny slipped out the door.

 

Hermione was not that easily placated.  He may be embarrassed, but of what?  That he had touched her?

 

Once he was sure Ginny was gone, Ron shuffled to her and cautiously sat on the edge of her bed.  He kept himself completely turned away from her, focusing his eyes across the room.  Great, now he couldn’t bear to look at her.

 

Ron swallowed twice before he seemed able to make words come out.  “I ... er, Hermione, all right, there?”

 

A short, hysterical giggle bubbled out of her.  All right, indeed.  “I’m fine, you?”

 

He smiled a bitter smile.

 

Hermione rushed to continue, “I mean, how’s your stomach?”  The lump was back in her throat.

 

Ron’s eyes squeezed shut.  “Still queasy.”  His hands fisted.  “Hermione, I … did I hurt you?  I mean when I attacked—” His voice broke.

 

“Ron!  No!  You didn’t …” How could he think …?  “You didn’t attack me!”

 

“I’m so sorry,” Ron said in a hushed voice.  He seemed so raw.

 

Hermione heard herself say, “Don’t be sorry, please, not for that … I …” She didn’t know what to say.  She wanted to make it better.  She needed him to be able to look at her again.  Words having failed her, she reached out to tentatively touch his hand.

 

Ron snatched it away making her heart drop, but no sooner had he taken it away then he grabbed her hand back so hard that it hurt.  Hermione blew out a puff of air and blinked away tears.  Oh, God, she did, she loved him.  She was doomed.

 

Hermione turned her hand in his and laced their fingers.  Over the long minutes that followed he seemed to relax almost imperceptibly.  Finally, Ron turned to her and said, “So, you have some research I could help you with?”

 

She smiled.  That was a peace offering if ever Hermione had heard one.

  


  


* * * * *

 

  


Harry had promised Adrianna that he would go to the Great Hall for dinner.  She had been called away to yet another meeting with Dumbledore.  It seemed that word had spread and every teacher at Hogwarts wanted to meet her, not to mention the Ministry officials.  Famous freaky Potters.  The whole lot of them.

 

Once he had entered the castle, Harry found that he couldn’t make his feet go to the Great Hall.  He imagined the rows of students, secretly sneaking glances at him.  Imagined Seamus’ pointed questions, the Slytherins’ malicious glares … and suddenly Harry was wandering about the castle aimlessly.

 

He wondered what Adrianna and Dumbledore were discussing in their secret meeting.  The mere thought of it gave him a bitter taste in his mouth.  Harry reckoned Dumbledore hadn’t learned his lesson about secrets.

 

Harry was sure he had walked long enough that dinner was over when he realized he was in the hall to the hospital wing.  He paused before going in.  He felt this pulling need to share this new experience of family with his best friends, but at the same time he didn’t think he could tolerate Hermione’s nagging and suspicions.  Not to mention the constant bickering.

 

In the end, Harry entered the infirmary without being aware that he had made the decision to do so.  When he strolled into the room Ron was sitting up with a book over his lap.  Hermione’s bed was covered by curtains and shielded.  Ron was reading intently, which was strange.  His best mate was spending far too much time alone with Hermione.  

 

Ron smiled when he saw Harry, “Oi, mate.”

 

Harry did his best to return the smile.  He sat at the edge of Ron’s bed and gestured to Hermione’s shielded curtains.  “What’s going on?”  

 

Ron’s smile faded.  “Madam Pomfrey’s examining Hermione.  She wants to make sure she’ll be ready to go back to the dorm tomorrow.”  Ron just looked at Harry for a long moment.  He seemed to be considering something.  There was a guilty look on his face.  It was beginning to make Harry nervous, when finally Ron said, “She had a bit of a strain today.”

 

Harry felt the sharp tug of fear.  Nothing more, _please_.  He couldn’t handle it if anything more happened to Hermione.  He swallowed.  “What happened?”

 

Ron looked as shamefaced as Harry had ever seen him.  He confessed softly, “We had the row to end all rows, mate.”

 

Harry let out a sigh of relief.  Well, then.  Nothing new, at least.  He had to close his eyes and shake his head.  They _would_ row at a time like this.

 

Unfortunately, the confession had just begun.  “I dunno, mate, she makes me so angry.  I mean, how someone who’s so brilliant could be so stupid?  A silencing charm?  A fucking silencing charm?  You and I both know she’s an expert at a dozen hexes, but she has to be creative, be a bloody humanitarian.”

 

Ron looked miserable.  Only he could get into a fight with Hermione because he _cared_ too much.  Ron had a far away expression as he choked out, “I mean she almost died, Harry.”  

 

She almost died.  Harry knew it and it cut him to the bone.  It was his fault, all of it.  Looking at Ron now, Harry was struck by how close he came to being the downfall of the two people that mattered most to him in the world.  It was clear that Ron wouldn’t survive Hermione’s death, not intact anyway.

 

The pull back into self-pity and grief was strong.  It took every ounce of energy Harry had to concentrate on Ron.  His best friend deserved someone to listen to him, as difficult as it was.  “Is that what you rowed about?”  he asked, “The Avada—”

 

“No.”  Ron interrupted hastily, as if he couldn’t bare the words being said aloud.  He ran a hand over his face.  “That’s why I was so upset.  We rowed about _everything_ else.  I was just so angry.  It, er … I got a little physical.”

 

Physical?  What the hell did _that_ mean, physical?  “You didn’t hit her!”  Harry demanded in disbelief.

 

“No, _no_ ,” Ron said vehemently, but softly, as if to counterbalance the volume of Harry’s outburst.  “She was trying to get up and I thought … she was _going_ to hurt herself.  For someone so clever, sometimes she just doesn’t think.”  Ron’s intensity flared quickly, and then faded just as abruptly.  He blushed, looking away.  “So, I, um, kinda pinned her to the bed.”  He refused to meet Harry’s eyes.

 

“Pinned?”  Harry repeated dumbly, shocked.  Pinned sounded awfully … _sexual_.  Is that what Ron meant?  Harry hadn’t been expecting _that_.  Not now anyway.  Oh God, Harry didn’t think he could handle it if this conversation was going where he thought it was going.  He couldn’t lose his best friends now, even if it was to each other.

 

“It wasn’t you know … _that way_ ,” Ron stammered.  “All right, it kinda felt _that way_ for a minute.”  Harry groaned out loud.  Ron rushed to finish, “We didn’t _do_ anything.   _I_ didn’t do anything.   _Nothing_ happened, except I made a giant arse of myself and hurt her in the process.”  He rubbed at his eyes.  “Then I threw up.”

 

“You did what?”  Harry’s voice spiked again.  Just when he thought he couldn’t be more shocked.

 

“Yeah,” Ron agreed, staring at the ceiling.  “I am such a bloody prat.”

 

Harry blinked, trying to make sense of it all.  It didn’t help that he hadn’t slept in days.  Maybe he was just misunderstanding.  What Ron was saying didn’t make sense, why would he …?  He couldn’t have …?  

 

Looking at Ron’s despondent features, Harry knew he was going to have to enter territory that he had studiously avoided for two years.  He took a deep breath and lowered his voice, “Don’t you think Hermione’s attractive?”  There was _no_ good answer to that question.

 

If it were possible, Ron turned redder.  He sat there stammering for a few minutes, before whispering harshly, “ _Yes_ , I find her ruddy attractive.  Fuck, too _bloody_ —”

 

“Then why?”

 

“Why what?”  Ron looked genuinely confused.  

 

He was so thick sometimes.  “What made you sick?”

 

“I dunno.  I was just sick.  I hadn’t been feeling well since Adrianna mentioned what all those ruddy potions were for …” His eyes widened and he met Harry’s gaze.  “You don’t think she thinks …?  I mean, she wouldn’t think that I—”

 

“That touching her makes you sick to your stomach?  Sorry, Mate.”  Harry nodded, grimacing.  “It’s kind of the logical conclusion and being a girl and _Hermione_ —”

 

“Bloody hell.  Fucking Goddamned bloody hell!”  Ron flopped back on his bed with his eyes closed.  

 

Despite everything, Harry almost laughed.  Ron had really done it this time.  There was something comfortingly familiar about the whole situation.

 

They both froze as they heard Madam Pomfrey’s voice, indicating that the shield had been removed from around Hermione’s bed.  Ron was flustered.  He kept looking around the room like a frightened animal.  What was he looking for?

 

The Healer pulled the curtains away.  Ron rushed to straighten himself and look normal.  Harry felt a rush of sympathy for his best friend.  There was no way he was going to look normal.

 

When Hermione appeared from behind the curtains she looked at Harry with surprise.  She smiled and bit her lip.  “Harry, how are you?”  she asked in a cautious, nervous voice.

 

“All right,” Harry lied.

 

“Oh, good.”  She seemed uncomfortable and kept glancing between him and Ron.  “So, er … how are things going with your cousin?”

 

With more than a little trepidation Harry answered, “All right.”  What was she about?

 

“Well, that’s good then.”  Hermione looked down at her hands while she wrung them.  “Um, Harry, I just want you to know that I think it’s great that you have family here.  I mean, she seems … _nice_.  I just … I’m sorry if I came off a bit intense.  I just worry about you, you know.”

 

Wow, where’d that come from?  Harry stared at her, open-mouthed.  That was the last thing he expected from Hermione.  He glanced at Ron.  What had he done to her?  Somehow, Harry just knew that Hermione’s odd behavior was related to … well, Ron’s odd behavior.  

 

“Thanks, Hermione,” Harry said, when he found his voice.  Despite everything, he felt a strong wave of affection for her.  They shared a soft smile.

 

Further uncomfortable conversation was avoided when Ginny walked in looking somewhat haggard and holding a large paper bag.  She really had fantastic timing.  Ginny promptly plopped the bag between Harry and Ron on the bed and threw herself into the chair between the beds.

 

“Adrianna said you hadn’t eaten yet and that I was to bring you that and make you eat,” Ginny explained, looking put out.  “A bit annoying, really.  I have to tell you, Harry.  She’s extremely bossy and does _not_ know how to mind her own business.”

 

Harry only managed a shrug in response.  He opened the bag to find it filled with bread and fried chicken.

 

“Brilliant!”  Ron said, grabbing a chicken leg.

 

“Ron,” Hermione chastised.  “You just ate.”

 

“Stomach feeling better, then?”  Ginny asked wickedly.  Ron blushed bright red and glared at her, but didn’t respond.

 

Harry picked at a piece of bread.  “She knew I never came to dinner, then?”

 

Ginny rolled her eyes.  “Please, she’s like Mum, if Mum could read your mind.”

 

Ron shot her a horrified look and shuddered, “Don’t even say that out loud.”

 

Ginny grew serious.  “She’s wicked powerful, Harry.  I mean if an Empath went bad—”

           

“Mmmm,” Ron mumbled excitedly, his mouth full of food.  He was practically bouncing on his bed as he swallowed impatiently.  “That’s what this book is about.  This Empath goes really bad, as in, fantastically evil.  Then along with this dark wizard, ravages half of Europe, making slaves of the magical world.”

 

Harry frowned and lifted the book to peer at the cover.   _The Great Empath Massacre._

 

Ron continued his story, seemingly having forgotten his Hermione dilemma in his enthusiasm.  “Then, they kill this Austrian bloke’s wife and children, and this bloke gets this army together and obliterates the Empath and her whole gang.”

 

“Let me see that,” Ginny said skeptically, grabbing the book.

 

“Wait, I haven’t got to the best part,” Ron said his eyes bright.  “His army tears through Europe, killing everyone even remotely related to an Empath, any Empath.  Women, children, babies—

 

“Oh, Ron!  The best part?”  Hermione exclaimed, clearly horrified.

 

“—they went through Asia and Africa, destroying everything that has to do with Empathy, books, charms, heirlooms,” Ron finished with a proud grin.

 

“This reads like a cheap novel,” Ginny criticized, as she thumbed through the book.

 

“What?  Just ‘cause it’s fun to read,” Ron attempted to snatch the book back.  Ginny pulled it toward her, not willing to relinquish it so easily.  He and his sister struggled in a tugging contest.

 

Hermione rolled her eyes at them, saying seriously, “All the books are like that.  I think it’s the translating spell Adrianna used.  Translated it to the same speaking language the caster speaks.  That one is the worst, though.  Adrianna cast that spell, it’s a bit _American_.”

 

Harry grinned, feeling nicely distracted.  He realized he hadn’t had an extraneous thought throughout the entire exchange.  He suddenly had the urge to read these monstrous books.  “Can I see that?”  he asked the still struggling siblings.

 

They both paused, looking disappointed, but they turned it over to Harry without argument.  Harry guessed this was the upside to pity.  He pushed those dark thoughts away as he flipped through the book.  It read like an adventure novel, complete with gory, moving pictures.

 

“Here Ron, you can read this one.”  Hermione handed him _The Legend and Legacy of the Empath_.  “There are plenty of Empaths going crazy and falling off cliffs and the like.  You should enjoy it.”

 

Ron pouted.  “I want the diary.  I bet that’s juicy.”

 

“The diary is mine,” Hermione said possessively, clutching it to her.

 

Harry raised his eyebrows at that.  “Find something interesting?”  He was surprised to find he was anxious when asking the question.

 

“It’s a fascinating read.  This girl’s father and mother hid in caves for years to escape the Massacre.  Poor thing was completely sheltered until she was twelve when she was callously married off and shipped to England.  She had only ever felt her family members’ emotions, then suddenly she was reading dozens of people.”

 

“Blimey.  They’re all cheap novels,” Ginny ridiculed, slouching in her chair.

 

“Then you shouldn’t mind reading the last one.”  Hermione handed her _The Lost Art of Empathy_.  Ginny frowned, but made herself comfortable in her chair and began reading.  

 

Harry smiled to himself as he lounged back at the end of the hospital bed, spreading out his book.  After several minutes had passed he looked up at his friends, each engrossed in their own text.  Ron occasionally ate from the shared bag of chicken.  Harry took a piece for himself.

 

Definitely a better evening than he had expected.

 

  


                                                            * * * * *

 

  


Hermione was awoken from her troubled sleep by a terrified voice calling her name.  She jerked up, her heart beating wildly, expecting an attack.

 

She quickly realized she was in the infirmary.  It was just Ron calling out from another nightmare.  Hermione squinted her eyes in the darkness.  He was tangled in his bedclothes, covered in sweat.  He looked much worse than he had in previous nights.  Was this just another nightmare or was he sick?  He could have a fever, could be delirious.

 

“No, please … _Hermione_ ,” Ron moaned, thrashing.

 

Definitely a nightmare.  Hermione swung her legs over the side of the bed and sat up, watching him, contemplating her next move.  Last night, Hermione would have gone to him in an instant.  She would have soothed his worried brow with her fingers and whispered calming words.

 

Last night, she was under the apparently mistaken perception that Ron might actually want her touch, that it wouldn’t make his flesh crawl.   _Last_ night, she was actually deluded enough to think he might care for her.

 

“Hermione.”  Ron’s head rolled on the pillow and tears came to her eyes.  She had to look away.  

 

Snap out of it, Hermione told herself.  She was a rational witch.  She needed to stop feeling sorry for herself and start looking at things logically.

 

Clearly, Ron _cared_ about her.  He was calling out her name in his sleep, for heaven’s sake.   _That_ wasn’t a delusion.  And she _knew_ why.  He was dreaming of her dead, or dying; rewriting the end of the Department of Mysteries.  Yes, he cared for her, but as a friend, maybe even as a sister.  Hermione cringed at the thought.

 

Ron sobbed in his sleep, “God, no.”

 

Yet, what did it matter really?  Even if he could never love … care for her like she … _damn it_ … _love_ her the way she loved him.  She _did_ love him and she wasn’t going to stand by and watch him suffer, not out of some fool pride of hers.

 

Hermione rose unsteadily to her feet.  She told herself that she needed to walk sometime.  She should have walked before this.  Would have, if it wasn’t for Ron’s over-protectiveness.  She couldn’t leave tomorrow if she wasn’t mobile.

 

“Please, please.  Don’t be dead,” Ron moaned, spurring her into motion.

 

It only took three wobbly steps and Hermione collapsed on the side of his bed.  Without thought she reached out and smoothed his hair away from his forehead.  It was damp with sweat making the red strands even darker.  She pressed her trembling palm against his brow, sighing in relief when there was no sign of fever.  Hermione almost pressed a kiss where her hand lie.  Heavens, she was a masochist.

 

“You _can’t_ leave me,” Ron implored.

 

Hermione voice broke as she reassured him, “No, I’m right here.  I’m not leaving.”

 

“Hermione!  I _need_ you,” he wept.

 

She knew in that moment that it didn’t matter how he felt about her.  She would stand beside him until the world ended.  All that mattered was that she loved him and he needed her.

 

Hermione leaned down to his ear and said in a soft, insistent voice.  “Ron, I’m here.  It’s Hermione.  I’m not dead.”  She allowed herself to run her hands freely over his hair and face.  It felt wonderful.

 

“Hermione?”  he called more softly.  His eyes didn’t open, though he relaxed minutely.

 

“I’m right here.”

 

Sobbing, Ron reached for her.  Hermione bit her lip in an effort to force back a strangled cry of her own.  She felt herself fall into his grasping arms.  He pulled her close and she closed her eyes at the feel of it.  She buried her face in his chest, allowing herself a minute.  

 

Then, taking a deep breath, she focused on evening her voice and brought up her face so she could whisper calming things into his ear.  She wrapped her arms around his neck and shoulders.

 

She felt him jerk against her and her hands froze.  His head pulled back from her shoulder and Hermione looked up into Ron’s piercing blue gaze.  She steeled herself for rejection.

 

“Hermione?”  This time when he said her name it was with confusion and disbelief.  Of course, it must seem odd to wake up with a girl wrapped around him.  It was natural to be a bit off put.

 

“Um …” she breathed, swallowing.  “You were dreaming ...”  Hermione desperately racked her mind for a way to make him see that she was just there to comfort him.  She wasn’t throwing herself at him.  Not _really_.

 

The thought became obsolete as Ron’s arms tightened, crushing her against his chest.  He pressed his wet face tightly into the space between her neck and shoulder.  Hermione could barely make out his muffled words.  He seemed to be chanting, “Thank God.  Thank God.”  

 

Hermione felt the nervous tension leave her body, and she gave herself over completely to her need to sooth him.  She wrapped her arms more fully around him.  Ron’s shirt clung, damp, to his back.  She grasped at it.

 

After long moments, she felt the tension in the muscles under her hands lessen.  He sighed into her shoulder and she felt his warm breath through her pajama shirt.  Finally, she could make out his words clearly.  “Hermione, it was so horrible.”

 

He was going to break her heart, he really was.  “It wasn’t real.  Everything’s fine.  It was _just_ a dream.  Here, now, lie down.”  Hermione coaxed him to lie back.  He fell backwards easily but he wouldn’t loosen his grip on her.  She was pulled onto his chest.

 

Hermione tensed, having expected him to let go, but his response was to hug her harder.  It was a good thing Madam Pomfrey had finished healing her ribs today.  Ron was stronger than he looked.

 

“Don’t leave me,” he begged.  A lump came to Hermione’s throat.  She knew he wasn’t fully alert or he never would have said something like that.  It wasn’t like him to show so much vulnerability.  It was her final undoing.  

 

“Shhh, love,” she whispered, relaxing.  “I’m here.  I’m staying right here.  I’ll never leave.  Go to sleep.  Go to sleep.”  Even as she said it Hermione realized it was true.  She wasn’t going to leave, not ever.  

 

Hermione had made a decision.  She was going to enjoy whatever she could get from Ron.  Pride wasn’t going to get in her way.  She wasn’t going to waste a single opportunity, because it might not come again.  

 

And tonight might be the only night she ever got to sleep in his arms.

 

  
  


                                                            * * * * *

  


 

Harry had been standing at the edge of the lake, staring beyond the cool surface since before dawn.  When the sun came up, he wondered how it got the strength to do that each day.

 

He had come to find that mornings were the hardest.  No matter what had happened the day before to cheer him, or more accurately distract him, none withstood the harsh morning light, or in this case the fuzzy predawn haze.  Not since Sirius had died.

 

Sirius had died.  Sirius was dead.  At least, he had gotten to a place were he could think the full thought without breaking apart.  Watching the sun rising slowly in the sky, Harry tried to imagine Sirius looking down on him, looking out for him.

 

It was a lovely fairy-tale Adrianna wove.  He could almost believe it when she was sitting next to him.  Harry wondered what would happen to him once he was back at the Dursleys.  Without anyone to distract him, to make him believe the pretty lies, to convince him that he wasn’t responsible for the death of his Godfather, would he ever be able to get out of bed again?  Is that what he deserved?  Did anyone deserve that?  

 

Yet, Harry had no choice.  He had to be _protected_.  He was the Order’s one weapon against Voldemort.  The only one who could kill him and the only price … Harry’s soul.  Certainly, not a steep price to pay.

 

“Hey, Broody McBrood.”  Harry turned to see his cousin jog toward him calling out, “Ginny said you’ve been out here since dawn.”

 

Instead of responding to her question, he took her presence as a welcome distraction and breathed a sigh of relief.  “What are you wearing?”  he asked incredulously.  Her white workout suit did not belong at Hogwarts.

 

“Japanese training suit.”  Adrianna came to a halt in front of him and took in his rumpled appearance.  “Strong in body, strong in spirit and mind … though the first step is eating, which you haven’t.”

 

Harry turned back out to the lake.  “What’s with you and food?”

 

“What’s with you and starvation?” she asked pointedly and smiled, shielding her eyes from the bright morning sunrise.  “So, what are we brooding about this lovely morning?”

 

He smiled grimly, “Oh, just my Destiny as a murderer.”

 

“Ah, I see.  The whole killing Voldemort thing?”  Harry nodded, kicking a rock into the lake.  She continued, “And murder and killing are the same?”  Another nod followed.  Adrianna took a deep breath and she looked out, beyond the lake.  “How many men have you killed Harry?”

 

Harry laughed bitterly.  “You mean besides Sirius?”

 

“Yes, besides Sirius.  I’m quite sure he doesn’t count.”  

 

“Well, then none.  How many have you killed?”  he asked sarcastically.

 

“Five.”  

 

Harry had not been prepared for that answer.  Adrianna looked at him very seriously.  “Do you think I’m evil, Harry?”  He gaped at her, suddenly uneasy.  “Don’t answer that.” She smiled ironically.  “I’ve fought some really dark creatures … _and_ men.  You can’t do that and not kill.”

 

“But how can you live with yourself?”  Harry hadn’t meant for it to come out as an accusation, but it did.

 

“There are no moral absolutes Harry.  Sometimes killing is the right thing to do.”

 

It was bizarre standing there, talking about the men she had killed.  Adrianna stood, clothed in stark white, looking innocent and serene.  He imagined her with blood on her hands and he shuttered.

 

“Several years ago, when I had recently become an Auror—”

           

Harry groaned.  “Is this where I get my fable, moral and all?”

 

“Yes, now shush, unless you really don’t want to hear it?”  Harry stayed quiet.  “We were tracking a particularly dark wizard through Eastern Europe.  He left a trail of victims behind him, tortured, murdered.  We caught up with him in Western Hungry.  I was the one to finally capture him.  It would have been easier to kill him.  I almost lost an arm _and_ a friend in my efforts to capture him alive.  It seems so stupid now.”  

 

Adrianna blinked up at the sun.  “I used to think it was so important to try not to kill.  I was very self-righteous, really.  Biggest mistake I ever made.”  Adrianna lost herself in thought for a moment

 

Harry’s stomach clenched as he watched her.  He really didn’t want to hear the punch-line to this story.

 

“So, we, um …” Adrianna seemed to fortify herself to finish the story.  “We turned him over to the local authorities.  They were supposed to transport him to the closest wizard prison.”  

 

Adrianna looked down and rubbed a temple.  “He broke free two weeks later, killed three in the process.  It took us months to find him again.  When we did it was in this village outside of Prague.  It had been …” her breath hissed, “ _decimated_ is the only word I can think of.  Burning, raping, slaughter, bodies of children …” she trailed off, cringing.

 

“Your stories aren’t much fun,” Harry whispered softly.

 

“I never regretted anything like I regret _not_ killing that man.  I still feel responsible for every death that followed his escaping.”  Adrianna swallowed.  “When we had caught up with him he laughed at me, said he’d escape again in a minute.  I killed him instantly.  Cutting spell to the throat.   _That_ I never regretted.”

 

Harry gulped through the lump in his throat.

 

Adrianna finally turned and looked at him.  She had her arms tightly crossed.  “People like us Harry, we don’t have the luxury of moral absolutes.”

 

Harry turned his face away.  “What if I don’t want to be people like us?”

 

“Ignoring Destiny never turns out well.  Harry, I know a lot of heroes.  Most of them have killed at one time or another.  I’ve seen their souls and their souls are beautiful.”

 

Harry laughed and sniffed.  He shouldn’t feel unburdened by such a horrible tale.  “Adrianna?”  

 

She hummed in reply.  

 

“When I’m at the Dursleys will you come and tell me horrible stories?”  Harry wished he didn’t sound so vulnerable.

 

Adrianna looked out to the lake again and clenched her jaw.  “The Dursleys,” she said bitterly.  “I’m not sure that will be necessary.  We’ll see.”

 

Harry felt a rush of hope, but pushed it aside.  She couldn’t mean that she could keep him from going back there?

 

As he watched, Adrianna pulled herself out of her reflection and smiled at him.  “Come on.  Your friends are throwing a party for Ron and Hermione and I promised Ginny you’d be there.”

  


 

                                                            * * * * *

  
  


 


	8. Perspective

Most of Gryffindor showed up for Ron and Hermione’s surprise welcome home party.  Dobby provided large piles of breakfast and lunch foods, pastries, sweets, and dozens of bottles of Butterbeer.  It was just the sort of attention that Ron loved.  Usually.  

 

Today, he wasn’t exactly in the mood for a celebration.  Harry was nowhere to be found.  And Hermione … Ron seemed to be having trouble forming even the simplest of words in her presence.  Actually, he was having trouble speaking at all, which didn’t exactly make him the life of the party.

 

Ron hid himself among a throng of laughing blokes, trying not to be _too_ obvious about the fact that he was staring at Hermione.  Ever since he had woken up this morning with her wrapped in his arms, Ron hadn’t been able to think of anything but her.  Now, as she sat across the room, he wasn’t able to _look_ at anything but her.

 

It wasn’t just _Hermione_ he couldn’t get off his mind.   _That_ Ron could deal with.  The problem was, he had become completely fixated on her _body_.  His mind was tormented with memories.  The feel of her bushy curls against his chin and neck, her thigh wedged between his, her amazingly soft breasts pressing against his arm.

 

Her breasts.  Ron could honestly say, that in the past, he had managed to spend very little time thinking about Hermione’s breasts.  It might have taken monumental effort not to, but that wasn’t the point.  The point was, that now, he was _obsessed_ with them.  He was constantly dragging his eyes away from them.  His hands itched to touch them.  

 

Which was just _great_.  Hermione was going to kill him.  Ron would deserve it too.  He was treating his best mate like the animal he was.  

 

The thing that got him, though, was that she wasn’t treating him like that … like an animal.  Last night, she had been warm and giving and wonderful and so incredibly forgiving.  There was nothing about Ron that deserved her.  Hermione should be livid with him, not softly concerned.  

 

Though, it did seem that _something_ was wrong.  She seemed more ... shy maybe, embarrassed, even a little sad.  Was Harry right?  Was she thinking that touching her had made him sick to his stomach?  That he found her repulsive?  Ron had trouble thinking someone a smart as Hermione would think that.  The idea was laughable.  Maybe it was just the madness that had overcome him today, but Ron couldn’t imagine anyone being more beautiful.  

 

His eyes traveled her form.  Hermione was sitting with Ginny, talking privately in the window seat.  She was wearing a simple Muggle t-shirt and jeans.  It showed every amazing curve.  The arch of her shoulder, her supple breasts, the dip of her belly that peeked at him under—

 

“Ron, mate, you awake?”

 

“Huh?”  He blushed, looking up to see Seamus addressing him.  Dean, Neville, and several fourth and sixth year Gryffindors were all looking at him expectantly.  Shite.  Did they notice that he had just been staring at Hermione?  Ron realized that he had a Butterbeer in his hand and took a long swig while he tried to calm himself.

 

“I asked you if you were ever going to tell us where you got those wicked scars,” Seamus repeated eagerly.  

 

Bloody hell, didn’t one of them have a lick of sense?  Why the fuck would he want to talk about _that_?  “I really don’t remember much, I was cursed and all.  Neville knows the story better.”

 

Neville blushed.  “You tell it Ron, you tell great stories.”

 

It was true.  Ron loved telling a good story.  He loved the feel of all eyes on him, hanging on his every word.  He had learned just how to weave a tale over the years, for maximum effect.

 

“Nah,” Ron shook his head.  “You go ahead.  You’ll tell it better,” he encouraged.  He was infinitely grateful when Neville finally started to haltingly tell the story, distracting all the prying eyes away from him.  He hoped his friend would have the sense to leave most of the details out.

 

Now, where was he?  Right, he was about to indulge in an incredibly inappropriate fantasy about his best friend.  Ron was going to imagine what it would have been like to have kissed Hermione yesterday.  He pushed away the nagging thought that it would have been wrong and, instead …

 

Ron would have leaned down, just a bit.  They had been so close.  He could still feel her amazing breasts crushed up against his chest.  He would have just needed to drop his head an inch.  At first, he would have brushed her lips lightly with his.  Then, he would have pulled back to meet her eyes, just to make sure it was all ok.  Instead of the revulsion he feared, her beautiful brown eyes would have been warm and welcoming and full of desire.  For him.  

 

Next, Hermione would put those small, strong hands in his hair and draw him back down.  This time she’d kiss _him_ , her soft lips sucking, biting … fuck, would she open her lips and let him in?  Would she let him taste the inside of her mouth?  Would she let Ron touch her?  Run his hands over the breasts that he couldn’t get out of his mind?

 

The answer to those questions was obvious.   _No_.  No, she wouldn’t let him touch and kiss her that way.  And if she did, then she shouldn’t, because she didn’t deserve a quick snog and if it were to be more … like a relationship …

 

Damn, being in a relationship with Hermione.  The thought made it hard to breathe.  Is that what Ron wanted?  It was a terrifying thought.  It would be so _intense_.  He didn’t think he was mature enough for a relationship like that.  Especially not with Hermione.

 

He’d just end up disappointing her.  How could he not?  And after that, he would lose her and there was one thing Ron knew for certain.  He couldn’t live without Hermione.  He slumped farther into the chair.   _Now_ , he was depressed.

 

Where the hell was Harry?  You would think he could at least make an appearance at his best mates’ party.

 

Neville’s story drifted to Ron.  Thankfully, Neville was leaving out most of the details, but still it was a bloody dismal tale.  The more Ron listened, the more he was convinced that the story was going to drive him barking.  He was hanging on by a thread as it was.  

 

Two figures climbing through the portrait hole caught his eye.  Ron sighed with relief.  “Oi, Neville, that’s enough, mate.”  Ron gestured toward Harry and his cousin with a sharp jerk of his head.  Neville flushed, understanding.  There would be no more stories.

 

Ron looked over Harry.  He seemed to be frowning and looking around in a daze.  His cousin pointed at Ron and dragged him over.  She pushed him into the sofa opposite Ron.  Kicking off her shoes, she climbed onto the sofa and sat behind him.  Harry seemed grateful that she took charge.

 

“Sorry, we’re late,” Adrianna said.  She poked Harry, probably to get him to apologize as well.  He didn’t.

 

Instead, Harry asked, “What’s going on with Hermione and Ginny?”

 

Ron shrugged.  They were most likely sharing the moment of his greatest humiliation and talking about what a prat he was.  “Girl stuff?”

 

Harry gave him a sympathetic look and Ron was glad that he had finally shown.  Especially since … oh shite, the girls were coming over.  Now what the hell was he supposed to do?

 

Ginny took the seat next to Harry on the sofa and … bloody hell.  Hermione squeezed next to Ron.  Shite.  Oh fuck.  

 

She was leaning forward asking Harry how he was feeling … or something.  Ron had lost all ability to form language, or understand it apparently.  Hermione’s leg was pressed up against his, like it had been a thousand times before, but now ... _now_ all he could focus on is the powerful sensations originating in that one spot.

 

She was touching him.  Hermione was _touching_ him.  Ron should have known something like this was going to happen.  He should have listened to his instincts and gone on avoiding her touch.  Now the flood gates were open and she was going to drive him mad.

 

A loud, “Whoa!”  jerked Ron back to reality.  He tried to shift away from Hermione to clear his head.  There wasn’t much room to shift.  When he glanced at her he instantly regretted his move.  He saw hurt on her face.  He had insulted her.  How could he make her understand that he simultaneously craved her touch and hated it?  He didn’t even understand.  It was _completely_ daft.

 

“Er …” Ron stammered, not sure what to say to make it right again.  He looked around at his fellow Gryffindors.  Had something just happened?  “Um, what’s going on?”  

 

Hermione’s expression turned from wounded to concerned.  “Adrianna just … are you all right, Ron?  You seem really out of it?”

 

Out of it?  Out of his mind was what he was.  Why was she leaning closer?  Ron began to breathe faster.  Oh God, Hermione was touching his forehead, checking for a fever.  It never felt like _that_ when his mum did it.  It never burned.  Maybe he _was_ delirious.  That would explain a few things.  

 

“I’m fine,” Ron choked, trying not to pull away from her but unable to stop himself.  

 

Fortunately, Hermione became distracted, turning the painful intensity of her gaze away from him.  Ron tried to follow the action around him.  Through the fog, he realized that Seamus had a bottle of Firewhiskey.  In front of Hermione?  How thick can he be?  Not even Ron was _that_ daft.  Or brave.

 

“Seamus Finnegan, what do you think you are doing with that?”  Hermione demanded.  Fury radiated from her.  Shite, she looked good when she was angry.  

 

Seamus scowled at her, pulling the bottle back.   _Now_ he realized his mistake.  A little late.  Hermione was going to flay him alive.  “Drinking it.  Having Fun,” the Irishman shot back mockingly.  Ron would have shook is head if he’d had the energy.   _So_ Stupid.

 

“Not any more you’re not.  Hand it over!”  Hermione held out her hand and tapped her foot.  She looked like McGonagall.  God help him, she looked adorable.  What did that say about Ron?  He grimaced.

 

“Why should I?”  Seamus argued, digging himself deeper and deeper.  Maybe he was just drunk, Ron had never seen his dorm mate act so recklessly.  The Irishman held the bottle where Hermione’s five-foot three-inch frame couldn’t reach.  Didn’t he realize she could still hex him?

 

“You _will_ give it to me, because I’m a prefect and if you don’t you’ll spend your last three nights at school in detention.”  

 

Ah, so that was the mode of attack Hermione was going with.  Ron would have preferred the hexing or punching strategy, much sexier.  God, he was a pervert.

 

Seamus scowled at her and slapped the bottle into her hand.  “You are such a bloody prude, Hermione.”

 

Ouch!  Now he was _definitely_ going to get hexed … or punched.  But Hermione did neither.  She maintained her calm, huffing off to the stairs.

 

“Hey, where are you bringing that?”  Seamus demanded.  Apparently, he hadn’t learned his lesson.  

 

Ron was hoping he’d goad her good.  He was somehow itching for a battle.  He didn’t have the strength for one himself.  Besides, the idea of Hermione being even angrier at him right now made him ill.

 

“To throw it down the girls’ toilet,” Hermione responded primly and flounced away, as if embracing her prude label and flaunting it.  Ron noticed the way her hips swayed when she flounced.  Blimey, he lusted after a prude … prim, proper, _perfect_.  It only made him hotter.

 

“I can’t believe her,” Seamus griped, angrily.

 

Ginny rolled her eyes.  “Well, it wasn’t very smart to pull that out in front of her.”

 

Dean chimed in, “You know how she is, mate.”

 

“Yeah, a goody-goody, a prudish old-maid, a cold-fish.  She wouldn’t know a good time if it bit her in the arse.”

 

Ron felt a strange combination of anger, indignation, and embarrassment.  Hermione was straight-laced, but Seamus was taking it too far and the last thing she was cold.  Shite, if he defended her, would they all know he how he felt about her?  How _did_ he feel about her?

 

The Irishman was on a roll.  He slurred a bit when he said, “Can you imagine anyone wanting to kiss her?  It would be like kissing ice!”

 

 _That_ was enough for Ron, now he was going to have to pummel the prat.  Ice his arse—

 

Adrianna laughed, “You are kidding, right?  Hermione?”  Confusion and curiosity brought Ron’s eyes to the Empath.  

 

“She is rather prissy,” Harry said to his cousin.  Was he defending Hermione or Seamus?  Adrianna looked at him as if he had no sense at all.

 

“It’s just,” Neville chimed in to explain.  “She’s not like other girls.  She’s not passionate—”

 

Adrianna’s loud incredulous laugh reverberated through the room.  “Not passionate?  What are you talking about?  How long have you known her?  Have you even _met_ her?”  She looked at Ginny, seemingly expecting Ron’s sister to agree with her.

 

Ginny shrugged.  “They don’t get it.  They’re only boys.”  As if that explained everything.  Ron wondered if he should be insulted.

 

Adrianna slid down from her perch on the sofa and sat between Harry and Ginny.  She rubbed her hand on her forehead, shaking her head with frustration.  “Ok, I’m going to give you boys a tiny, but much needed, lesson in women and passion.”

 

Every bloke in hearing distance perked up and came closer.  Ginny gave a sound of disgust and leaned back into the sofa, away from them.  

 

“Passion is the capability for intense emotions,” Adrianna began, as if giving an important lecture.  “When someone is passionate about something or someone, a guy for example, they focus all of that energy on them.  That display, with Hermione, _that_ was passion.”

 

The Gryffindor men looked skeptical, but Ron had a sudden image of Hermione pushing him against the wall, crushing her lips to his, thrusting her tongue into his mouth …

 

“Seamus, did you see that spark, that fire in her eye when she demanded your Firewhiskey?  That fire is in her soul, right under the surface.”

 

Ron turned fantasy Hermione and lifted her against the wall, as he tore off her shirt.  Her skin burned him.

 

“That intensity that she directs toward being a prefect, or getting good grades, _that’s_ passion.”

 

He imagined her studying him like one of her books.  She would pull off each piece of his clothing slowly, examining him, running her hands over him, reverent.

 

“She’s also the kind of girl that thinks for herself.  She only enforces the rules that she believes in.  The rest, she shreds as suits her.”

 

The scene changed, Ron and Hermione were in the Transfiguration classroom.  She was clad only in knickers, sitting on a desk, kissing him, and clutching at him vigorously.  Oh God.

 

“You boys really need to learn to look below the surface.”

 

Ron’s image of removing Hermione’s knickers with his teeth was interrupted by a flurry of bodies as they backed away from the tight circle.  He looked up to see Hermione walking down the stairs, a look of suspicion on her face.  Six blokes stared at her with new appreciation.  Only Harry had the grace not to drool.  Ron’s hand flew to his face.  Was _he_ drooling?

 

“This is your bag, isn’t it Ron?”  

 

He turned slowly, realizing that Adrianna was addressing him.  Ron stared at her in confusion as she placed the bag he had brought back from the infirmary in his lap.  She then turned her attention away from him as if it were nothing.

 

He flushed even darker as comprehension dawned.  She knows.  She read his thoughts … Ron clutched the bag to him to hide the evidence of his arousal from the rest of the room.  It was just in time, as Hermione was crouching in front of him, looking into his eyes.  Oh God.

 

“Ron, are you sure you’re all right?  Your eyes are all glazed-over and feverish.  Are you sick?”  She took his head in both of her hands.  It felt so _good_.  “You feel warm … and sweaty.”

 

Sweaty?  Sweaty Hermione … he _was_ sick.  A sick, sick puppy.

 

“Ron you should go upstairs and rest.  You’ve had too much excitement,” Adrianna told him in a commanding tone, wrestling his attention away from Hermione.

 

He nodded gratefully and staggered to his feet.  Ron couldn’t string two words together, so he grunted at Hermione as he passed her, on his way to the stairs.  He was careful to hold the bag in front of him.  

 

Halfway up the stairs, he looked back and saw Hermione staring after him with concern.  He had a flashback to the classroom fantasy and he walked more quickly up the steps.  What Ron needed was a shower … and a really, really _cold_ shower.

  
  


                                                       * * * * *

  
  


Hermione leaned against the common room window.  She had been there practically since the beginning of the party, the party _supposedly_ in her honor.  But instead of celebrating she was listening to Ginny tell her about the information she had gathered on Adrianna the day before.  

 

Hermione eyes unwittingly wandered across the room to Ron’s form, hunched in a comfortable chair, surrounded by rowdy Gryffindors.

 

 “He’s staring at you, you know.”  

 

Her eyes jerked back to Ginny.  Hermione smiled forlornly and shook her head.  “No, he’s just staring.”  She looked him over, feeling confident that he wasn’t seeing her.  “He’s actually rather dazed.  I’m a little worried.  He’s been glassy-eyed and out of it all day.”

 

“Dazed with lust for you,” Ginny drawled melodramatically, then giggled at Hermione’s obvious discomfort.  “Seriously, he’s been checking you out.”

 

Hermione really needed Ginny to stop giving her false hope.  It was making her heart ache.  Ron had been distracted and distant since they had woken up together that morning.  He had merely blushed and stammered when she woke and mumbled an apology, scrambling back to her own bed before Madam Pomfrey could arrive.  He hadn’t mentioned it since.  He hadn’t said much of _anything_ since.  Not to her anyway.

 

It wasn’t a good sign.  Looking at him now, Hermione worried that he might be seriously distressed that they had slept together … slept in the same bed, that is.

 

Maybe he felt that she had taken advantage of him or maybe the idea of being so intimate with her had left him mortified.   _That_ or he his health was regressing.  Hermione didn’t know which possibility upset her more.  Actually she did, and she didn’t like the kind of person that made her.  

 

Desperate for a diversion, Hermione asked, “So, what was that thing with Snape?”  

 

“Shirty, aren’t you?”  Ginny rolled her eyes.  Hermione wondered if she’d be so flippant if she understood how dismal the situation was.  “I didn’t get a chance to ask Adrianna about it.  She left to go find Harry.  You can ask her yourself, though.  I ran into her this morning and she said she’d bring Harry to the party.  Actually, I think she said ‘haul his ass,’” Ginny said the last part in a reasonable imitation of an American accent and broke off laughing.

 

Hermione cracked a small, distracted smile as she scanned the room.  This time she managed to not linger on the object of her affection.  The party had been going on for quite a while now.  Adrianna certainly hadn’t done a good job “hauling” anyone.  She thought of how disappointed Ron must be that Harry wasn’t there.  “Is Adrianna really the best person to ask?”

 

“Hermione,” Ginny said with a sad, but resolute, expression.  “She’s the only one who can _find_ him these days.  Not to mention, make him _do_ anything.”

 

The older girl frowned deeply.  That was the _last_ thing Hermione wanted to hear.  “These days?  She’s only been here for three.”  

 

This Adrianna thing was already spiraling out of control.  Harry was far too vulnerable.  Somehow, Hermione was going to have to get her mind off the boy whose bed she shared last night (oh heavens, he smelled good this morning) and back to more important matters.  If she didn’t do something soon … she didn’t want to think of what the Empath could do to Harry.

 

“Yeah, I know.  She better be for real or I’m personally hexing her to next Tuesday.”  Ginny grinned cheekily, but the older girl knew that fear was not far from the surface.  

 

“Oh, thank heavens.”  Hermione placed a hand on Ginny’s knee.  “There they are, climbing in now.”  She watched Adrianna guide Harry into the room and over to the sofa across from Ron.  Harry looked drawn and pale … thin.  “You haven’t seen him in the Great Hall at all?”

 

Ginny shrugged.  “I dragged him there myself yesterday morning, not that he ate much.  Otherwise, no.  I haven’t even seen him talk to anybody but us.  And Adrianna, that is.”

 

Adrianna had perched herself above Harry on the sofa.  It looked very relaxed and casual, but Hermione could tell from the position she could see most of the room.  She was wearing what amounted to white pajamas and her hair was in a long black ponytail.  Adrianna looked like she had just come back from a yoga class, but to Hermione she looked like his samurai bodyguard.

 

“Come on, let’s go.”  Hermione and Ginny made their way over to where the others were sitting.  Ginny took the seat next to Harry on the sofa.  Probably to guard Harry from his bodyguard, if Hermione knew her friend at all.

 

There was plenty of room on Ron’s big chair.  Forcibly pushing away her reservations, Hermione squeezed in next to him.  She was determined to act normal.  She couldn’t go acting shirty with Ron now.  It would only raise his suspicions higher.  The last thing she needed right now was him realizing just how much she fancied him _and_ how much it was hurting her that he didn’t fancy her.

 

She sat pressed up next to him, as she had a hundred times before.  Why did it feel so different?  Hermione swallowed and forced herself to concentrate on Harry.  “All right, Harry?” she asked earnestly.

 

Harry gave her a panicked face and muttered, “Er ... all right.”

 

Hermione immediately recognized her mistake.  Fortunately, so had Ginny, who quickly offered a distraction, asking, “Harry, want a Butterbeer?”  She was already leaning over the coffee table and trying to find a full bottle.  Hermione was grateful for the Weasley capacity for subtlety and diplomacy, for it was something she often lacked.  What would she do without Ron to keep her from barreling forward?

 

“You’re out of luck, mate.”  Seamus grabbed a bottle of the table.  “This is the last one.”

 

Ginny frowned, seizing the bottle out of his hand and saying with exaggerated sweetness, “So nice of you to save it for us.”

 

“Hey, give that over.”  Seamus lunged for the bottle as Ginny held it out of his way.

 

“Not a problem.”  Adrianna lifted the Butterbeer out of Ginny’s hand.  “ _Entire Bacchetta_.”  She snapped the fingers of the other hand and her wand appeared in it.

 

Hermione’s heart raced.  Did she just Apparate her wand?   _Without_ a wand?

 

“Who are you?”  Dean asked, awe in his voice.  

           

Wasn’t that just the question of the hour?  Harry made introductions as Hermione watched Adrianna carefully.  The witch placed the bottle on the table and waved her wand, “ _Duplisis_.”  The younger girl’s stomach clenched as she watched the bottle double and double, until sixteen bottles sat on the table.  

 

“Whoa!”  Seamus exclaimed, taking a bottle and chugging it.  “It’s good.”

 

“Same as the original,” Adrianna said, as if they should all know.  As if it was the most common magic in the world.

 

Hermione felt Ron jerk and pull away from her.  She felt an instinctive pang of hurt.  Was she _that_ repulsive?  “Um, what’s going on?” he asked, looking around.

 

Her brow furrowed.  Ron was flushed.  He must really not be feeling well.  “Adrianna just … are you all right, Ron?  You seem really out of it?”  Concern overcame self-preservation and she placed a hand on his forehead.  He _was_ warm.

 

Ron jerked away, making Hermione regret the rash way she had touched him.  “I’m fine,” He snapped.  

 

He was _not_ fine.  He had better not be allowing his discomfort over her attraction to him affect his health.  Hermione was just about to tell him so, when her attention was diverted by Seamus pulling out a bottle of …

 

Firewhiskey.   _Firewhiskey_.  What the hell did he think he was doing?  And right in front of her and Ron.  At _their_ party.  Did no one have any respect for their position as prefects?

 

“Hey, could you double this for me?”  Seamus asked Adrianna.

 

“Yeah and how old are you?” the Empath laughed.  

 

Hermione was not about to let that woman address the issue.  That was _her_ job.  “Seamus Finnegan, what do you think you are doing with that?” she demanded.

 

The pompous prat pulled the bottle back.  “Drinking it.  Having _fun_.”  

 

As if he was the only one who knew how to have fun.  Hermione _knew_ how to have fun.  Sometimes.  In her own way.  “Not any more you’re not.  Hand it over!”  She held out her hand.

 

“Why should I?”  Seamus held it up in the air, out of her reach.

 

It was a cheap shot, using her height against her.  Did he think she was going to reach for it like an fool?  Hermione was going to hex his arse back to Ireland if he kept this up.  As _unfun_ as it was, she took her position as prefect seriously.  “You will give it to me, because I am a prefect, and if you don’t, you’ll spend your last three nights at school in detention.”

 

Seamus angrily slapped the bottle into her hand.  “You are such a bloody prude, Hermione.”

           

Prude!  Prude!  She was not … she’d … Hermione turned, her head held high, and made for the stairs before she lost her last bit of self-control and _did_ hex him.  That or burst into tears.  She wished Ron wasn’t listening to this.  Though, he probably agreed.  He certainly wasn’t defending her.

 

“Hey, where are you bringing that?”  Seamus screamed after her.

 

Hermione rolled her eyes.  She was going upstairs to get _drunk_ , what did he _think_ she was doing?  How thick could you get?  “To throw it down the girls’ toilet.”  

 

She was fuming as she stomped up the stairs to the girls’ dorm.  But try as she did to focus on the anger, the hurt kept coming through.  This is what they thought of her.  They thought Hermione was a prude, no different than a professor, barely a girl.  Certainly not capable of enjoying herself.

 

Why would anyone want _her_ as a girlfriend?  They probably thought she’d do nothing but nag and order them around.  Probably thought she wasn’t even interested in kissing.  Well, she _was_.  Hermione wanted a good snog as much as anyone.  Though, at this rate, she was never going to get one.

 

Hermione paused at the entrance to the girls’ lavatory and looked down at the bottle in her hand.  Her hand clenched around it, involuntarily.  She had the sudden, frightening urge to drink.  It was absurd.  She would be throwing away everything being a prefect meant to her, just because of something _Seamus Finnegan_ said.  Did she really think that would make Ron fancy her more?

 

On the other hand, just because she was a prefect and couldn’t allow drinking in the dormitory, didn’t mean … that it was _never_ ok.  Hermione wasn’t a prefect during summer break for example.  She was curious just like anyone else.  She wanted to have fun.  She could be down right adventurous if she wanted to be.  On occasion.

 

Feeling liberated and quite proud of herself, Hermione snuck into her dorm room.  She placed a cloaking spell on the bottle, making it appear to be a book, and hid it on the bottom of her trunk.  Right next to her day planner.  Prude, indeed.  Take _that_ Seamus Finnegan!  Not that he’d ever know it was there.  Anyway, it made _her_ feel better.

 

Her confidence wavered as she descended the stairs back to the common room and felt all eyes on her.  Well, not _all_ … but the group gathered around Harry and Ron.  They had clearly been talking about her.  Hermione cringed, thinking about what they may have said.

 

She took a deep breath, determined not to let anyone see her flustered.  Chin up.  Hermione made her way down the rest of the stairs.  Prude or not, at least she had her dignity.  The blokes dispersed in a futile attempt to appear as if they _hadn’t_ been gossiping like a bunch of old maids, laughing at her.  

 

Hermione got a better look at Ron.  He looked positively dreadful.  Now, she was really concerned.  This was almost certainly a reaction to the brains.  Madam Pomfrey shouldn’t have allowed him out of the infirmary.

 

Ron didn’t even seem to see her as she made her way toward him.   _This_ was more than a little embarrassment.  Hermione crouched in front of him, looking into his eyes.  The bright blue depths seemed cloudy.  “Ron, are you sure you’re all right?  Your eyes are all glazed over and feverish.  Are you sick?”  

 

Hermione reached out to cup his clammy cheeks with her hands.  This wasn’t good.  “You feel warm … and sweaty.”  She needed to take him back to the hospital.  The brains could have affected his metabolism or they—

 

Adrianna spoke before she had a chance.  “Ron, you should go up stairs and rest.  You’ve had too much excitement.”  

 

Hermione tensed as fury welled up in her.  How dare Adrianna!  That … that … really annoying woman!  Bossing about Harry was one thing, but Ron.  Ron was _hers_.  Before Hermione could tell Adrianna exactly what she could do with her unsolicited _concern_. Ron was nodding and pushing past Hermione, mumbling something incomprehensible.

 

She watched open mouthed as he ascended the stairs.  God, Hermione _hated_ that Empath.  This was _her_ business.  Ron could be seriously, mortally ill.  “I should go upstairs and check on him,” she said, standing.

 

Then _she_ had the nerve to say, “He just needs some rest.”  Adrianna wasn’t at _all_ worried.

 

Well, _Hermione_ was worried.  “I need—”

 

“That’s not a good idea,” the bossy, doesn’t-know-how-to-stay-out-of-other-people’s-business witch said.  Then Hermione realized.  Adrianna had read Ron’s emotions.  She knew he was repulsed by her and that he needed to get away.   

 

“That’s really not it,” Adrianna stated calmly.

 

Now she was responding to Hermione’s thoughts, which ticked her off to no end.  Fire flashed in the teenagers’ eyes.  She locked them with Adrianna’s.  “Who do you think—?”

 

“Blimey,” Harry interrupted, wonder in his voice.  “You’re right.”

 

Adrianna had the nerve to smile, “Of course, I’m right.”

 

Hermione heard a muffled giggle from Ginny and rounded on her.  “What?” she demanded.

 

Ginny didn’t flinch.  “Oh, nothing.  It’s nothing.”  She was lying.  Of that, Hermione was certain.  She wasn’t even trying to hide it with that grin of hers.  

 

“You were talking about me,” Hermione bit out.  It was a statement of fact.  She turned her hot gaze to Harry, who withered and shook his head rapidly.  Adrianna just shrugged.  Everyone else in hearing distance moved even farther away.  

 

Hermione took a deep breath.  Carefully, she gathered the hurt, the worry, and the desperation, and focused it on beautiful fury.  She looked between her friends and tried to decide exactly where she was going to start her angry tirade.

 

Then a clanking noise moved all attention to Adrianna’s wrist.  The older woman moved back her sleeve to reveal a charm bracelet heavy with medallions.  One such charm was whirling wildly, hitting into the other coins and talisman.  Adrianna was very serious when she grabbed the medallion.  Peering at it closely, she finally rubbed it so it stopped spinning.

 

Adrianna looked up at Harry.  “It’s work.  I’ve got to take care of this.”  She placed a hand on his shoulder as she walked past him.  Harry looked panicked at the prospect of her leaving and she paused.  “You three should go get some air.  It’s awfully … _stuffy_ in here.”  She turned her gaze to Hermione.  “I’m sure Ron would appreciate a visit _after_ he’s rested.”  

 

The woman’s gall knew no boundaries.  If she thought she could dictate to Hermione—

 

But catching Harry’s relieved expression, Ginny had already agreed to the plan.  “Sure that sounds great, right Harry?”  He nodded, gratitude clear in his expression.

 

“Good,” his cousin nodded, heading for the portrait hole.

 

Hermione watched her go, bile rising.  She really, really disliked that woman.  She didn’t care how many books she owned.

  
  


                                                       * * * * *

  
  


Ron was sitting on the hard floor, clasping Hermione’s cold, limp body against him.  He forced his mouth open to scream and instead, a rush of air came in.  His eyes snapped open.  Instead of the fogy halls of the Department of Mysteries Ron saw the familiar burgundy of the velvet drapery surrounding his dormitory bed.  It _should_ have been comforting.

 

But even thought this wasn’t the first time Ron awoke gasping from the image of holding Hermione’s lifeless form.   _This_ time, he couldn’t roll over and touch her.  This time, there were only the cold sheets and the filtering moonlight and the still forms of his dorm mates just beyond the curtains.

 

Ron sat up, needing to put distance between him and the sleep that brought on the nightmare.  He ran his hands over his face and through his hair.  He needed her.  He needed to touch her.  He needed to know she was all right.  He needed it now.  God damn it!

 

Yet, when Hermione was with him, Ron couldn’t stand it.  He couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t think.  In less than two days, he had gone from mildly preoccupied to completely obsessed.  She filled his every waking hour … well, not _just_ waking.  

 

He wasn’t even making sense any more.  He’d be in the loony bin by the end of the summer, just from the strain of not seeing her.  

 

Ron wondered if there was anyway to get into her dorm.  Maybe he could run to the Owlery and send Hermione a message to meet him in the common room …

           

Ugh!  This was crazy.  Meet her downstairs?  He couldn’t even be alone with her anymore.  If he met her downstairs then Hermione would be wearing a thin nightgown and her hair would be all wild from sleep … Ron’d do something stupid.  He’d just have to touch her and then he wouldn’t be able to stop and then…then he’d ruin everything.

 

Just like he almost ruined things today … yesterday.  What time was it exactly?  After he left the common room, Ron had taken a cold shower, but the cold had done nothing to relieve the ache.  In the end, he just gave up and had himself a nice wank.  

 

Well, not just a _nice_ wank.  Imagining his best friend naked and wet, pushed up against the shower wall, Ron had the best bloody wank of his life.  He was a pervert.  It was official.  

 

Yet, when he went back to his dormitory and lay down on his bed, Ron finally felt sane.  His thoughts were clear.  He had thrown himself across his bed and pulled out that lovely massacre book.  It had been such a relief to let the stories of blood and mayhem wash his mind of Hermione.

 

It was working brilliantly, until she came up to make sure Ron was all right.  Why did she have to be so damn caring?  Didn’t she know she was driving him mental?

 

Hermione had sat on the edge of his bed, _his_ bloody bed.  Home of adolescent fantasies.   _Dirty_ adolescent fantasies.  She had looked so innocent, so concerned, and so fucking beautiful that Ron couldn’t stand it.  He knew that he had to touch her.  He knew he was going to pull her down onto his bed and pin her there like the animal he was and crush her lips to his and …

 

He had jumped out of bed like it had caught fire.  Ron saw that Hermione was hurt and confused.  He tried to cover it up with saying he needed some fresh air.  He even asked her to go outside with him.  It didn’t matter.  It didn’t lessen pain in her warm brown eyes.

 

What was it he should he have done?  Ron didn’t have a choice.  He had to get her out of there.  Away from the place where he slept and dreamed and Goddamn wanked!  They needed to be around witnesses for fuck’s sake.  If she didn’t want to be ravaged then they needed a … a _barrier_.

 

 _If_ she didn’t want … that was the rub.  The problem was that hurt on her face.  That _could_ mean that Hermione _did_ want him.  Maybe not to ravage her, but maybe to kiss her.  Bloody hell.  What if she wanted him to kiss her?  Did that mean he should?  Even if she wanted him now, how long could it last?  Where would it go?

 

On and on the questions went.  One thought after another, chasing its own tail.  Confusion was the only thing that Ron felt that made any bleeding sense.  In the end, all he felt was fear.  Fear that he’d end up alone and miserable, alienated from Hermione forever.

 

So trying to see Hermione was out, then.  Ron was stuck in this oppressive bed, his thoughts racing, knowing that when he eventually fell asleep, the nightmares would begin all over again.  He didn’t think he could stand it.  Ron was suffocating in this velvet prison.  

 

With more energy than anyone should have at this hour of the morning he climbed out of bed, intent on taking yet _another_ shower.  It had worked this afternoon to relax him.  Ron wondered what his mother would think when he came home and started taking showers every few hours.  He’d cause a bloody draught by the end of the summer.  

   

He emerged from behind the curtains, expecting to find a still and empty room, his dorm mates safely tucked away, their prying eyes hidden from Ron’s shame.  He froze as his eyes came upon Harry sitting on the wide window ledge, his knees drawn up, and his forehead against the pane.

 

Harry stiffened at the sight of him and for a moment they just stared at one another, each having been caught vulnerable in the dead of night.  They had nothing to be ashamed of, yet they both were.

 

Finally, Harry sighed, breaking the stare.  He turned his eyes back to the grounds below.  When he spoke it was in the quiet tone of someone too tired to bother with embarrassment for long.  “What are you doing up?”

 

Oh, Ron was going to the loo to wank off thinking about his best mate.  But don’t worry, it wasn’t Harry.  No, it was the _other_ best mate.  That wouldn’t bother him, would it?

 

Ron swallowed.  “Couldn’t sleep.  You?”

 

Harry smiled a bitter smile.  “Same.”

 

Ron felt himself drawn to the window and he sat with his back against the glass, staring out at the quiet room.  The humiliation faded and he began to feel comforted by Harry’s presence.  It had been a long time since it was just the two of them.

 

After a long silence Ron asked, “Nightmares?”

 

Harry gave a short bitter laugh.  “I didn’t get that far.”

 

Ron echoed his wry chuckle, looking down.  “You’re lucky.”

 

A beat of silence followed.  “What are yours about?”

 

Ron took a deep breath.  Did he really want to tell?  “Hermione.”

 

“The vomit thing?”  Harry asked in a much lighter tone.  

 

He looked up to see a small smile on Harry’s face.  Ron blushed and smiled back.  The smile only lasted a moment.  “No, the _Avada Kadavra_ thing.”

 

A sharp hissing breath came from Harry and they lapsed into their longest silence yet.  Ron turned his head and studied his friend.  Misery tainted Harry’s every feature.  His best friend caught him looking.  He met his gaze with a strange intensity.  

 

“I can still see it,” Harry said.  His voice had a rock-hard edge to it.  “His lips moving without words, then a streak of blue and she crumpled.  Just collapsed on the floor.  I was sure she was dead.  One of the worst moments of my life,” Harry said the last in a whisper and turned his eyes back out to the grounds.  “And that’s saying something.”

 

Ron had to close his eyes against the image Harry had created.  They stung with threatened tears.  He bit them back, finding anger instead.  “Why did she have to use that Goddamned silencing spell?”  

  

 “She …”  Harry sighed softly, shaking his head.  “He was trying to call for the other Death Eaters.  That’s why she silenced him.  She wasn’t trying to block the spell, it was just a coincidence.”

 

Ron gritted his teeth, taking in the new information.  He shook his head sharply.  “She still should have stupefied him.”

 

Again Harry laughed _that_ laugh.  The bitterness was harsher this time.  “She should have stupefied him.  I should have stupefied him.  We shouldn’t have been there in the first place.”  He paused seeming to struggle for control, closing his eyes tightly.  When he opened them he met Ron’s gaze directly.  “If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine.”

 

Ron shook his head rapidly, guilt coming over him.  He shouldn’t be taking to Harry about this.  Of course, Harry would blame himself.  Ron hadn’t meant to make him feel worse.  “It’s not _your_ —”

 

Harry cut him off sharply, “Then whose is it?”

 

“The Death Eater’s.  The one who cursed her,” Ron said quickly, realizing it was true only after the words were out.

 

Harry’s gaze turned below again.  Ron watched his jaw work, watched shame and self-recrimination turn to rage.  Harry nodded.  “Dolohov.”

 

Ron sucked in his breath.  “He was the one?”

 

“I can still see his twisted ugly face.”

 

Fury consumed Ron, its presence cleansing.  “If I ever get my hands …” he trailed off as Harry’s head turned sharply and their eyes met with an angry ferocity.  In that moment, their fellowship had never been stronger.  

 

Harry gave a sharp nod.  If Ron didn’t know better, he would have sworn the two friends had just made a pact to kill the Death Eater on sight.

 

 

 

 

                                                       * * * * *

  
  


After about two hours of staring at her canopy, Hermione had moved to sitting on her window ledge, staring out at the Hogwarts grounds.  It amazed her that after only one week she couldn’t sleep without Ron beside to her.  

 

The scene below her was still and boring, leaving her mind free to reflect on things better put aside.  But Hermione’s body wouldn’t let her forget.  It was restless, it seemed to crave Ron’s touch, if only his hand lightly surrounding her wrist, feeling for her pulse.  

 

Though the thing that really kept Hermione tossing and turning was the thought that at this very moment Ron could be calling out for her and she wasn’t there.  She winced, remembering the horror in his voice from the night before.  Then she became warm and flushed thinking about the way he had held her tightly for the rest of the night.  It was horrible how much pleasure Hermione had received from that embrace when she knew it was born out of Ron’s pain.

 

Even so, Hermione couldn’t help but crave those moments of mutual comfort.  They were the only times that Ron would let her near him.  During the day, he couldn’t stand to be alone with her.  He shrank from her touch.  But at night, at night Ron was _hers_.

 

Hermione seriously considered sneaking into to his dorm room.  But then what?  Climb into bed with him?  Spend the night?  It _did_ sound wonderful.

 

Of course, he wasn’t exactly _alone_ in that room.  Hermione could just imagine the look on Seamus’ face.  Oh, yes, his dorm mates would _love_ that.  Ron wouldn’t be able to tolerate the teasing.  He’d stop talking to her all together.  Or get himself expelled for fighting.  Or both.  Most likely both.

 

No, sneaking up to his dormitory, as enticing as it was, was not an option.  Besides, they would be home in less than three days.  Why continue to feed her addiction when she was going to have to live without it.  

 

They would be separated for weeks or months.  There would be no midnight rendezvous … not rendezvous, that was far too suggestive.  No opportunity for any nighttime comfort.  Yeah, that was better, she thought sarcastically.

 

The summer.  Hermione knew it would be one of the hardest of her life.  They hadn’t even discussed visits with all that had been going on.  Maybe Ron would want the time apart.  It might be more than two months before she saw him again.  

 

She let out a lung full of air at the thought.  Even though part of her was looking forward to being free of the constant, maddening, push-pull from Ron, the idea of being separated made her heart hurt.  She was so vastly pathetic.

 

Hermione sighed, looking over the emptiness of the Hogwarts grounds one more time.  There was no point in contemplating this any longer.  There was nothing Hermione could do about it tonight.  She might as well do _something_ useful.

 

She climbed down from the window ledge and came around to her bed.  Hermione pulled down her heaviest draperies, the ones that shielded all light.  She fetched her wand and the Empath diary from its hiding spot and climbed up into bed.  Hermione placed her lit wand above the book, at the head of the bed, and rolled onto her stomach to read herself to sleep.

 

The last thing she remembered before falling asleep was reading about the birth of Adrianna Brookfield’s first child.  When she awoke, sunshine was coming through the cracks in her drapery.  Her wand was still lit.

 

And the diary was gone.

  
  


                                                       * * * * *

           

  
  
  
  



	9. Gone

Ginny was awoken from a thoroughly pleasant rest by a shrill voice calling her name. She groaned and pulled a pillow over her head. She felt a pair of irritating hands poking at her shoulders. She did her best to ignore them. “Leave me alone, Mum,” she grumbled. 

“Ginevra Weasley, wake up this instant.” The words were her mum’s, but the voice was … Hermione? Oh crap. 

The girl rolled over and looked up into the drawn face of her pajama-clad friend. Ginny groaned again. “Hermione? What do you want?” It wasn’t even fully light yet. If this was about her stupid brother again, Ginny was going to kill him. 

“The diary’s gone,” Hermione whispered urgently. 

“The diary?” Ginny blinked at her sleepily. What was Hermione going on about now? 

“The Empath Diary. You know, the one that belongs to that lunatic dictator that Harry calls a cousin. The one that’s her prize possession. The one she’ll likely kill me over.” Hermione looked frazzled to the point of panic. She had bags under her eyes and her hair was going every which way. 

Ginny sat up fully, doing her best to push the cobwebs from her mind. “Are you sure?” she whispered. 

“Yes! I fell asleep on it for heaven’s sake. It was gone when I woke up. I looked everywhere. The Legend and Legacy of the Empath is gone as well. Do you still have The Lost Art of Empathy?” Hermione spoke quickly and quietly. 

It was hard to believe that she wasn’t over reacting. Why would someone steal Adrianna’s books? “Yeah, it’s in my trunk.” Unlike Hermione, Ginny didn’t tend to sleep with her books. 

Hermione was already off the bed and going through the other girl’s trunk. There was a frantic quality to every movement she made. As Ginny slid off her bed, she tried to remember if she had anything in there that she didn’t want her friend to see. There were certainly things she didn’t want Ron to know—

“It’s not here.” Hermione stared at the trunk with a despondent and terrified look. 

Ginny felt her anxiety rise. She was sure she’d put … she scrambled off the bed, all vestiges of sleep leaving her, kneeling next to the trunk as she rummaged through the contents. “It has to be here. I know I put it right here.” Harry was going to hate her if she lost Adrianna’s book. Hermione he had history with, he’d forgive her. 

She stared at the scattered contents of her trunk in disbelief. Why wasn’t it here? Ginny stood up and began opening and closing her drawers, even though she knew, she knew, she didn’t put it there. Hermione searched the room, under the bed, the window sill, the desk surfaces. After endless minutes of useless searching, Ginny shook her head. “It’s no use. It’s not here.” Now she was beginning to panic. 

Hermione’s eyes darted around the room. “There’s one more book.” She ran from the room without warning, leaving Ginny to stare after her in shock. 

Grabbing her dressing gown and slippers, Ginny didn’t pause to put them on as she rushed after the wild-haired girl. She hopped down the stairs as she tried to put on her slippers and protect herself from the cold stone. “Hermione! Wait!” Ginny frowned. Why was she always chasing after someone? 

Hermione was already down the steps of the girls’ dormitory and ascending the steps to the boys’. Shite, Ginny thought as she realized where they were going. Harry and Dean’s room. Possibly the last place she should be going. Bloody hell. 

Ginny reached the fifth-year dorm room after Hermione, wondering why she didn’t just have the sense to go back to her room. She struggled into her dressing gown, obscenely glad that she had the sense to grab it. She didn’t want to be in that particular room without it. Ginny entered the room cautiously, her stomach in knots. She felt a rush of wicked excitement. 

Hermione had already pulled back the drapery around her brother’s bed. It was too tall a bed for her to reach Ron from the floor so she climbed up and knelt, precariously, on the edge. She gently shook him and called his name. 

As Hermione leaned over him, Ron sleepily reached out and yanked her toward him. He took her off balance and she wound up sprawled over him. He blearily called, “Hermione.” 

Ginny had to press her hand over her mouth to stifle the bubbling laughter that threatened to spill out. He certainly didn’t think she was their mum. 

“Ompf, Ron,” Hermione whispered urgently, trying to wake him. 

Ron didn’t seem to hear Hermione’s tone. Wrapping both his arms around her, he pulled her to him tightly. “Mmm, Hermione,” he moaned. 

Ginny bit her hand so hard it hurt. Yeah, he found Hermione repulsive. That was it. Her poor friend was red-faced and struggling, looking around the room nervously. “Ron! Wake up!” she said more insistently. 

“Don’ wanna,” he murmured, nuzzling, yes nuzzling, his captive’s neck. “’Mione.” 

‘Mione, huh? By this point Ginny had at least a summer's worth of material with which to torture her brother when the days got long and boring. 

“Ginny!” Hermione called out in desperation. “I could use some help here.” 

But the Ginny shook her head, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “Looks like you’re doing just fine.” Besides, Ginny was thoroughly enjoying the show. 

Hermione groaned and tried harder to push Ron away. It seemed Ron had grown quite strong over the last year or so. He wasn’t budging. Did Hermione really want him to? 

“What the bloody hell is going on out there?” called a loud Irish brogue. 

Ginny froze, the laughter dying on her lips as three faces appeared from behind the curtains of three beds. Only Harry’s remained shut. 

“Ow!” Ron shouted, releasing Hermione immediately and rubbing his shoulder. Ginny had to wonder exactly what Hermione had done to him in her desperation to get away. Seemed the kitten had claws … or teeth. Ginny bit back another giggle as Hermione quickly scrambled away from her brother. 

“Seems we have visitors,” Dean stated in a sleep roughened voice. Ginny’s heart immediately lodged in her throat, and her attention pulled away from the amusing scene to one more … oh dear, Dean was staring at her with such warm dark eyes. She blushed and had to look away. 

Ginny pulled her dressing gown more tightly closed and prayed that Ron wouldn’t notice the interaction. And that Harry would stay behind his drapery. God, what would she do if Harry appeared now? 

Ron was looking at Hermione with panic. A panic that had nothing to do with a missing book. Maybe it was the glint in a certain Irishman’s eye, who took the scene in with great interest. Let the teasing begin. Seamus leaned out of his bed, calling merrily, “Well, then, what’s this? Right cozy, I’d say.” 

Normally, Ginny would have expected Seamus to be making a comment about Hermione being a prude or bookworm … or about her current, very uncharacteristic behavior. 

However, it seemed Adrianna’s speech had gotten to the sandy-haired boy. He was looking at Hermione with what could only be described as appreciation and maybe even awe. As if finding her in a bloke’s bed was proof of a hidden wild side. If Ginny wasn’t mistaken, there was even a touch of envy on his face when he looked at Ron. 

“Nothing! Nothing’s going on,” Hermione’s voice was shrill and unusually flustered as she scrambled off Ron’s bed, shooting Seamus a look that could kill. 

Seamus smiled broader, eyes intent on Hermione. “It dinna look like nothin’. Dean, it look like nothin’ to you?” 

Dean smiled playfully at Ginny and turned to look at their red-faced victims. “No, it sure didn’t, Seamus. What do you think, Neville?” 

Neville blushed as bright as Ron. He stammered, “I didn’t see anything, I swear.” 

Good old Neville. Ginny sighed. It seemed it was time for her to be a good sister and friend. Ron and Hermione seemed to be completely incapable at getting themselves out of this sort of mess. How did Ron survive the twins, again? Oh yeah, he had her. 

Ginny rolled her eyes and gave a practiced grunt of incredulity. “Oh, come now. What could they possibly have been doing? I’m standing right here.” 

Hermione shot her a grateful look as she regained her power of speech. “We were just here looking for a book.” She turned and looked at Ron pointedly. “Remember that book you borrowed. The one you were reading yesterday.” 

Ron looked confused, but he took the hint that it was important and climbed off his bed. He opened a drawer, “It’s right …” A shocked expression came over his face. His head turned abruptly and he made eye contact with Hermione. A silent communication seemed to be taking place. Ginny found it amusing and annoying at the same time. 

Hermione gulped. “Is there any place else you could have put it?” 

“I know I put it here,” Ron insisted, but he was already rummaging through his things. 

“So, what sort of book is this?” Seamus asked with laughter, raising his eyebrows suggestively. 

“Seamus Finnigan!” Hermione’s frustration bled into anger at her classmate. She snapped at him, “Just … just get back to bed and mind your own self.” 

The Irishman just grinned wider and exchanged a look with Dean. He obviously felt this was an example of Hermione’s “fire.” If Hermione ever found out what Adrianna had stirred up, there was going to be quite a show. 

Ron was oblivious to the entire exchange, as usual. He ran a hand through his hair and looked around. “It’s got to be here.” He strode over to Harry’s bed and opened the curtains. “Hey, mate, did you see …”

Harry wasn’t there. Ginny felt an initial wave of fear, then she remembered that Harry was rarely where he was supposed to be these days. Ron shared a look with Hermione, who pushed past Ginny and started another mad dash down the stairs. Apparently, Hermione was a tiny bit worried. 

Ginny followed, running down the stairs, once again, after Hermione. That’s what she did, follow. It was her lot in life. It seemed it didn’t matter where they were going, Ginny wasn’t about to be left behind. It was so sad. 

She heard her brother’s bare feet on the stone behind her, and Ginny called out, “Wait! Harry’s probably out by the lake. You can’t go out like that.” 

Hermione behaved as if she hadn’t heard her. Ron dashed past Ginny, his longer strides overtaking hers. He caught up with Hermione in the common room and caught her arm, swinging her to face him. When she looked up at him, there was fear on her face. 

Ron didn’t flinch. He said calmly, “You need to get dressed. We’ll look for Harry together.” 

She seemed to be considering when they heard a soft voice call from the other side of the sofa, “I’m here.” 

They found Harry sitting on the floor with his knees to his chest. His back was against the sofa, and he was staring blankly into the cool flames of the fireplace. 

“Harry.” Hermione rushed to him. She hadn’t seen Harry like this. He always pulled himself together a bit when he visited them in the hospital. Unfortunately, Ginny had seen this side of Harry often over the last few days. 

Hermione started to kneel, but paused, looking to Ron. He stood behind her and nodded reassuringly. Carefully, apologetically, Hermione confessed, “Harry, we can’t find Adrianna’s books. They’re gone.” 

His only reaction was a brief nod. That was strange. Ginny certainly expected a reaction from that. She wanted to say something, but felt out of place. Hermione and Ron were back. They were a trio again. She wasn’t needed. 

Hermione moved then. This time, she did fall her knees beside him and searched his face with a concerned expression. “Do you know what happened to them?” she asked, cautiously. 

Harry shrugged, his gaze not wavering. “I suppose Adrianna took them back.” 

“Oh.” It seemed all Hermione could manage. Silence followed as she shared glances with Ron and then Ginny. Finally, the older girl placed a light hand on Harry’s knee, asking, “Did something happen?” 

He shrugged again. 

Ron started to ask, “But, why—”

“She’s gone,” Harry interrupted in a stronger voice

“Gone?” Ginny whispered, almost to herself. She moved closer, around the sofa to join the others. 

“Adrianna left. I suppose she took her books with her,” Harry repeated matter-of-factly. 

Ginny mind raced, trying to remember every interaction she had with Adrianna, everything the Empath had said. Ginny shook her head in disbelief. “She said she wouldn’t leave. She said no one could make—”

“Well, she left,” Harry said without a trace of emotion. 

“What was that shite about helping you, about Fate sending her here?” Ginny’s voice shook with anger. She felt a burning desire to kill the traitorous bitch. 

Harry shrugged yet another time. After a long moment he answered, “She said I’d see her again soon.” 

“Soon?” Ginny choked. Soon, yeah right. Her fists curled in rage. She felt her brother put a hand on her shoulder to still her. 

“Did she say when?” Hermione asked softly. 

There was another non-answer from Harry. 

“Did she say why, mate?” Ron asked in a supportive tone. 

Harry shrugged. “She said it was really important.” 

Ginny remembered the spinning medallion from the day before. What could be more important than Harry? Ginny didn’t buy it. Not for a second. 

“Oh Harry,” Hermione whimpered, throwing her arms around his shoulders and leaning her cheek against him. 

He didn’t move to hug her back. 

 

* * * * *

 

For Harry, the last two days of school passed slowly, uneventfully. He felt like he was just awakening from a strange dream and was having trouble making reality come into focus. It didn’t help that reality seemed to come with sharp edges that were determined to make him bleed. 

When Adrianna said goodbye, Harry felt hopeful that she would come back for him. But those feelings disappeared as soon as she did, leaving him feeling like he had just awoken from a spell. He was having trouble believing that she had been there at all. 

There was no physical evidence of her existence. The books had vanished, her room was back to the way it was before, even the photo album was gone. Harry’s friends refused to mention her name and he certainly wasn’t going to bring the subject up. On the morning of the last full day at Hogwarts, Dean Thomas asked Harry about his cousin. Harry almost asked him what he was talking about. 

Harry whiled away his last days with long walks and chess matches. He spent time with his friends, with them, but still somewhat apart from them. It was as if there was some invisible wall through which Harry watched them from a distance. 

Ron had developed an obsessive need to be around Hermione at all times. Even so, he avoided physical contact with her as if touching her could cause his own death. The resulting strain was palpable. His friends were edgy and snappish, none of which was new to Harry. Yet this time, it was different, and it filled him with a sense of dread and loss. 

Harry might have resorted to avoiding his two best friends all together if it hadn’t been for Ginny’s presence. She was always there, moderating Ron and Hermione, saving Harry from unwanted questions, making dry, sarcastic comments that held just the right amount of humor and bitterness to make it bearable. 

Harry wondered why she had appointed herself their babysitter. He did not delude himself to think that it was otherwise. It was clearly work for Ginny. There was an underlying exhaustion about her that no doubt came from the strain of keeping the peace. He hoped she knew how grateful he as. 

The night of the Final Feast had been the worst. His friends seemed to think his ban on the Great Hall wouldn’t extend to the last celebration. Of course, it had. So, Harry ditched them and, instead, he indulged in a whirlwind ride of believing that he might have Sirius back. Not once, but twice, first with a mirror and then with a ghost. In the end, he had spent the remainder of the feast staring out his dormitory window. There he sat still, on the morning he was to go back to the Dursleys. 

Over the course of the morning, Harry came to the horrible realization that if he had just opened the mirror from Sirius earlier, the whole Department of Mysteries catastrophe may not have taken place. It was just another way he let Sirius down. No wonder he didn’t want to stay on earth as a ghost. No wonder he wanted to move on instead of being with his worthless Godson. 

“Harry, come on. We have to go.” 

He dragged his eyes over to Ron. His friend stood by the door with both of their trunks, looking harried. The rest of the dorm had cleared out ages ago. 

“They aren’t going to let you stay just because you refuse to move, mate,” Ron said in a soft, concerned way. 

When had Ron become so perceptive? Harry supposed he was right, so he climbed off the ledge and grabbed his wand, pointing it at the trunk. “Mobiliarbus,” Harry called tiredly. It was the first word he spoke that day. 

As he and his trunk made their way down the spiral staircase behind Ron, Harry thought about how three days ago he dreamed of not going back to the Dursleys at all. He had actually allowed himself to believe Adrianna would rescue him. 

It was just like those few magical hours after meeting Sirius, when he believed he could go live with him. Just like that, too good to be true. 

 

* * * * *

 

Ginny lingered near the entrance to the castle, watching her friends and classmates deposit their trunks in piles to be brought to the train as they made their way to the carriages. Who was she kidding? Lingering? She was hiding in the bushes, waiting for Harry. 

Over the last two days, Ginny had completely fallen pray to her Harry Potter Obsession, becoming his self-appointed bodyguard. After Adrianna’s mysterious disappearance, she and Hermione had agreed to keep a close eye on Harry, to monitor any fall out from that woman, and to make sure Harry didn’t do anything stupid. 

Hell of a lot of help Hermione had been and that, as always, was her stupid brother’s fault. Ginny was not only left minding Harry by herself, but also playing mediator for the Ron/Hermione fiasco. Mostly, she tried to shield Harry from the insanity that threatened to drag everyone around the non-couple into lunacy as well. 

After the incident on Ron’s bed, he apparently decided he couldn’t allow for a slip like that again. Ron decided he couldn’t be alone with Hermione. Not only that, but he insisted on maintaining a minimum safe distance between them, to make sure no, gasp, touching occurred. This left poor Hermione distracted and miserable. 

What was perfectly obvious to Ginny was that all they needed was a good long snog. Apparently, she was the only one it was obvious to, so … she was delegated by her brother to be in their constant presence to buffer him from Hermione and her many charms. Now the prat wants her around. 

But that wasn’t the biggest problem. Ginny could probably have handled things quite nicely if it weren’t for one thing. Her barking mad brother, not only couldn’t stand being alone with Hermione, he couldn’t stand her being out of his sight either. Ginny had to mind them every waking moment. 

Yesterday, he had kittens when Hermione slipped off to the loo without telling him. You’d have thought they had been attacked by a hoard of Death Eaters from Ron’s reaction … or giant spiders. 

Ginny laughed. At least she could still entertain herself. She scanned the grounds again. Where were they? She should never have entrusted Ron with something as important as getting Harry to the carriages. She squeezed her eyes shut. Great, now she was his keeper. Way to go pride, good work. 

The irony of this whole situation was that Ginny had been thrown into a position that she had coveted since her first year, the fourth member of the fabulous trio. Who was she kidding? First year? She had been dreaming about being in this intimate group since before she came to Hogwarts, ever since her brother, who had previously been her best friend, had left her alone with only owls detailing his great escapades and his fantastic friends. 

Ginny had foolishly assumed that as soon as she got to Hogwarts she would slip right in and join in on the adventure. Well, she had gotten to be a part of the adventure all right, in the worst possible way. All it had taken to get Ron to remember that she existed was to get possessed by a mad man. 

Now, here she was, the outsider, a coveted part of the group. Not because they wanted her, but because they were desperate, falling apart at the seams, and they needed Ginny to hold them together. 

It was all very sad and she was beyond pathetic, but here she was hiding in the bushes, waiting for Harry Potter and her brother, the adventurer. And Ginny couldn’t get her feet to move and go somewhere else. 

As she scanned the crowd, Ginny suddenly noticed a figure walking toward her. Oh shite. Dean Thomas. 

Ginny had managed to avoid being alone with Dean since the kiss incident. Not necessarily because she didn’t want to be alone with him, but because not leaving Ron, Hermione, and Harry alone, didn’t leave her much alone time. 

She put on a charming smile as Dean neared her, reminding herself that flirting with him was the only healthy thing she had done this week. 

“Hey, Ginny.” He smiled an adorable lopsided grin, looking at her in a way that made her feel beautiful, wanted. “What are you doing over here?” 

Yeah. How to answer that one? When in doubt, be coy. “Nothing much,” she said with a flirtatious smile. She may have even batted her eyes, just a bit. 

“Really, because it looks like you were hiding in the bushes?” Dean said playfully, taking a step into her personal space. 

“Now, why would I do that?” She took a playful step back. 

“Who knows? Why does Ginevra Weasley do anything that she does? You’re a complete mystery.” 

“Mmm, mystery. I like the sound of that.” Ginny was starting to feel that giddy, intoxicated feeling that came from being sought after by an attractive male. 

“A complete enigma.” 

“Enigma, huh?” 

“Yeah,” he was biting his lip and looking at her almost shyly. He had this amazing way of being shy and bold at the same time. It was as if she made him nervous, but he found her worth perusing anyway. It was incredibly alluring. 

“How’s a bloke supposed to know where he stands? A girl sneaks into his room in the middle of the night, gives him a kiss, quite a brilliant kiss at that, then avoids him for the rest of the week. Do you have any ideas on how this bloke should interpret that?” 

Ginny blushed warmly. It had been a brilliant kiss. With great effort she gave him an innocent look. “Maybe the girl wasn’t looking for the bloke. Maybe she was just looking for something for her brother.” 

“And the kiss?” 

“An accident?” she offered, causing him to chuckle. Dean reached out and ran a finger down her face. Ginny shivered and leaned into the touch, struggling to keep her eyes open. “You kissed me,” she breathed, losing the pretense of their game. 

“You kissed me back.” His voice became husky. Dean’s eyes were both intense and vulnerable. 

“I was just being polite.” Even as she said it she took a step closer, putting a hand on his chest. Ginny received a beaming smile for her efforts, making warmth course through her. 

“Polite, huh? Somehow, you don’t seem the type of girl who does anything that she doesn’t want to.” Dean leaned closer. Was he going to kiss her already? They didn’t have all day. 

Ginny shrugged. She was enjoying this. Flirting. Being with Dean was so simple. A bit of enjoyable conversation, a little snogging. No hidden motives, no life and death drama. 

“Well, then, if that’s true, why have you been avoiding me?” Dean breathed, close to her lips. 

“Avoiding?” Ginny whispered, as she unsuccessfully tried to keep herself from licking her lips in anticipation. She curled a hand over his shoulder. “I’ve seen you everyday.” 

He smiled, “With your brother in constant attendance. Never alone.” 

“Alone?” she said with mock indignity. “That would be unseemly.” Ginny loved the way his eyes stared at her lips like they were the finest chocolate in the world. “My brother’s not here now.” 

Dean smiled that big, sexy smile. “No, he’s not.” 

With a burst of courage she pulled Dean back two steps into the hedges so they were completely out of sight. Dean chuckled in response and took the move as permission. He cupped her chin and brought his lips to hers. 

Ginny sighed as their lips met, giving herself over completely. She loved this. The sweetness, the normalcy, it made her feel like girl. Simply an ordinary girl, desired by a boy. 

Their lips slid across one another’s. Ginny loved the plumpness of his lower lip and the way Dean’s hand pressed against the center of her back. She lost herself in his worshipping mouth, forgetting the stress and rejection of her everyday life. He boldly parted her lips, and she felt his tongue shyly slip inside for a taste. 

Ginny felt a flash of arousal, enjoying the sensation. Unfortunately, it was followed by nervous trepidation. Suddenly, reality intruded, and she remembered where she was and why she was there. Harry. Bloody hell, couldn’t he even leave her alone when she was snogging another bloke? 

Ginny tore herself away from Dean, gently pushing him back. “The carriages are leaving.” 

He smiled and nodded, his eyes glazed. “Can I write you this summer?” 

Ginny blushed, butterflies in her stomach. This was becoming more than a simple flirtation. “I don’t know how I could stop you.” 

“Will you write back?” Dean asked, vulnerable. 

“Mmm, probably. You know, just to be polite.” She gave him one last beaming smile and pushed around him and out of the bushes. She really needed to find Harry … and Ron and Hermione, of course. 

“Will you meet me in Diagon Alley?” He called out behind her. 

Ginny’s heart skipped a beat. She turned, it was incredibly appealing to have a boy who wasn’t afraid to ask. “You mean like a date?” 

“Yeah, like a date.” 

“You are aware that I have six older brothers, two of whom work in Diagon Alley?” she teased. 

“I can handle it.” 

Yeah, she was sure he could. Biting her lip, she gave a quick nod and called out, “Have a nice summer, Dean.” 

Ginny turned and ran down to the carriages, her heart beating wildly. She looked around anxiously. Some bodyguard she was, the carriages were already beginning to leave. Shite. 

“Ginny!” She spun to find Hermione leaning out of a carriage, gesturing frantically. “Come on, you’re late.” 

She let out a little puff of self-deprecating laughter at the irony of Hermione’s statement and hurried over to the carriage. Ginny quickly hiked herself up and into it, falling into the seat next to Hermione, and finding Ron and Harry opposite her. 

Harry looked at her curiously and asked, “You run here or something?” 

Oh God, he knows. 

“No, why?” 

“You’re all flushed.” Harry brow wrinkled. 

Ginny gave him the most innocent look she could muster, not sure what to say. She should have admitted to running. 

“Where were you?” Ron asked crossly. 

She responded with her best sisterly sarcasm. “Saying goodbye to friends.” As if it was his business, anyway. 

Ron started to squabble back, but Harry interrupted with a small smile, “Well, we’re glad you’re here now.” 

Ginny couldn’t help but smile back as her heart tumbled … from just one look. How would she feel if Harry kissed her? Oh God, she really was a dirt slag. 

 

* * * * *

 

“This one is empty,” Ron called out, over his shoulder, as he entered a compartment on the Hogwart’s Express, carrying Pigwidgeon’s cage and his chess set. Harry and Hermione filtered in after him, stowing their respective animals. 

Ginny threw her backpack onto the seat. “I need to talk to Luna for a minute. I’ll be right back,” she called. Ron’s anxiety rose as she flitted out of the compartment. It was ok, he told himself, Harry was still there …

“Oi, where are you off to?” Ron almost yelled as he caught Harry half-way out the door. 

Harry looked at him like he’d grown an extra head. “To the loo, mate. That a problem?” 

Yeah, obviously that was a problem. Ron could only grunt as his best friend left the room. Sometimes it would help if Harry were just the tiniest bit perceptive. Ron was dying here. 

Then he was alone with Hermione. He began to feel the same heightening of sensations that had become common whenever he was alone with her. He began to sweat. 

Ron actually tripped over his own feet as he turned to take a seat. Tripped and brushed against Hermione’s back as she stood on her toes to adjust Crookshanks’ cage. It was just the smallest of touches but he felt like he had been burned. Ron pulled away violently and threw himself in the seat farthest away from her. 

He looked up to see her staring at him with such a look of hurt and accusation that it made his head hurt ... and maybe his heart, as well. Shite. Fuck. Her lips were pursed and she looked like she might cry. No, no, don’t cry.

Ron’s stomach sank. He had done it again. When was he going to learn? Ron’s mouth opened and closed like a mackerel as he searched in vain to find the words to make it better. All he could think was that he was the biggest prat in the world. 

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. He was in for it now. Ron almost welcomed the inevitable punishing rage. He deserved it. Hermione crossed her arms and became ram-rod stiff. Holy shite. 

“Ron,” she began. The careful tone in her voice showed Ron just how bad the situation was. “I know…” she started and stopped, licking her lip. He watched the tip of her tongue transfixed, for a moment he forgot he was in trouble. 

Hermione began again in a rush. “I understand that you don’t want to be alone with me, but I’m not going to ... I know I’m not pretty or attractive. I’m actually quite plain, which is fine. So, you should know that I don’t expect anything from you. I mean I don’t ...” She wiped away a tear. 

Oh God. Oh God. Ron could only blink as panic sent his mind into a state of disorganization. He tried to take in everything she said. Hermione didn’t really think that? Why would she think that? Her tears were making him desperate. Ron shook his head rapidly, reaching out to her. He had to say something, deny it. Crap. “Hermione, I—”

She shrunk away from him, interrupting sharply, “Don’t feel like you have to touch me. I can see how you shudder when you do. I’ll just keep my distance and maybe we can go back to how it was before.” Hermione frantically reached for her Muggle clothes as Ron stood frozen by his own incompetence and blinding fear. Her voice cracked as she murmured, “I’m going to change.” She bolted from the room. 

“Hermione, wait!” Ron screamed, suddenly finding his voice. Ron dashed after her, out into the corridor, but she was already pushing through the crowd. Shite. Shite. Shite. Now he felt like he was going to cry. He had to fix this. How as he going to fix this? 

A crash came from the hall in the other direction, then the sound of multiple voices yelling curses. It drew Ron’s attention and he instinctively pushed his way toward the commotion. Whatever it was, it had to be easier to deal with than Hermione. 

Ron arrived to find his fellow DA members had turned Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle into a trio of giant slugs. By the way Harry stood over them, it was clear the Slytherins had been trying to ambush his best friend. He felt a rush of anger at the three, slugs or not. When would they ever quit? 

“I must say,” Ernie Macmillion said, “I’m looking forward to seeing Malfoy’s mother’s face when he gets of the train.” 

Ron tried to smile at the obvious humor of the situation. “Goyle’s mum’ll be really pleased, though. He’s loads better looking now.” He gestured toward Harry, whose proud expression was fading back into his tired, pained look. “Anyway, Harry, the food trolley’s just stopped, if you want anything.” 

Harry nodded and thanked the others. He stopped at the food trolley and Ron entered the compartment. Seeing that Hermione was already back, he took a quiet breath, attempting to still his nerves. She looked completely composed as she sat, reading the Daily Prophet. Ron deliberately sat next to Hermione, noticing how her body became like stone. 

Hermione looked to the doorway, where Harry was paying for the food. “You don’t have to,” she whispered sternly. She quickly moved to the seat opposite and away from him, sitting next to the window. She went on reading like nothing had happened. 

Ron felt a sense of mounting dread. He needed to fix this. He was running out of time. He slid down the seat until he was across from her, leaning forward, he whispered pleadingly, “Hermione, you don’t understand.” 

She looked up and nodded. “I do understand. It’s all right, Ron.” Hermione gave him an artificial, serene smile and went back to her paper. Ron wanted to shake her, to make her listen. To what, he had no idea. 

Harry entered the compartment, sitting next to him and handling out Cauldron Cakes and Pumpkin Pasties. Neville and Ginny arrived moments later. Before Ron knew it, they were all comfortably chatting amongst themselves. He tried to keep it from being too obvious that he was staring at Hermione. 

Now what was he going to do? Ron wasn’t going to be able to fix anything while everyone else was here. He could hear the conversation now. “Hey, Hermione thinks she’s repulsive because I can’t be alone with her or touch her. What she doesn’t understand is that if I do either of those things, I may start tearing her clothes off.”

Shite, he was completely fucked now. Ron leaned back and closed his eyes. Well, he had a five hour train ride to figure out what he was going to say to her at the train station. He just had to figure out a way to make her understand without loosing her forever. 

 

* * * * *

 

Hermione watched Harry walk away, down the platform with the Dursleys. This was not going to be a good summer for him, despite the Order’s reassurances. Even if the Dursleys didn’t maltreat him, they certainly weren’t going to comfort him. 

Too much had happened this year. Harry was bound to spend the summer convincing himself that Sirius’ death was his fault and that he didn’t deserve his friends. It was inevitable, really. If only that horrible Adrianna hadn’t come and made matters worse. Just one more loss Harry was going to have to deal with. Alone. It made Hermione’s heart hurt. 

She would just have to find a way to keep a closer watch on Harry this summer. Hermione took a deep breath before turning. It was time for her to say goodbye to Ron, and she didn’t know how she was going to do it. 

It had become painfully obvious over the last few days that her touch disgusted him. Hermione must have given too much away. Ron must have figured out how she felt about him. Now, he seemed scared to be alone with her. 

Hermione walked over to say her farewell, cautiously. She locked her hands behind her back to remind herself not to touch him. Ron was bent over his trunk. She came up behind him and said, “So, goodbye, then.” She managed a small smile. 

Ron turned and stood. Hermione saw the panic in his eyes. Did he think she was going to jump him? She wondered how she had managed to ruin everything so quickly. What if they could never be friends again? 

“Hermione,” he croaked in a pained voice, his eyes darting around at their family and friends. Ron was most likely worried she’d make a scene. He needn’t be. She had some dignity left. 

Hermione steeled herself for a cold, distant farewell. Then abruptly, Ron grabbed Hermione’s arm, making her drop her clasped hands in shock. He fumbled for her hand and grasped it tightly. He was pulling her down the platform before she knew what was happening. 

Hermione’s heart was in her throat as she ran to keep up with his long strides. She had to concentrate to keep from tripping. “Ron, what are you …? Where are we going?”  
He ignored her questions, only stopping when their family was well out of sight. When he turned to her, he was bright red and breathing heavily. He almost appeared to be shaking. Ron ran a hand through his already rumpled hair. “Hermione,” he sputtered. “Look, you’ve misunderstood.” 

Not this again. Had he pulled her all this way just to reject her in private? Hermione couldn’t handle this. She couldn’t handle a false apology. “I do understand—”

“No!” Ron yelled, making her jump at the ferocity of it. “You couldn’t be more wrong. Will you bloody well stop interrupting me and listen?” 

Hermione was stunned into silence. Ron opened his mouth to speak, and she waited but no sound came out. Then he abruptly grabbed her shoulders and she tensed. His beautiful cobalt blue eyes darted around her face. When Ron finally began talking he made little sense. “You think I don’t want to touch you … you think … bloody hell.” 

Ron broke away and spun from her, bending over and covering his face with his hands. He was really behaving quite crazy. It was a bit concerning. He spun back and looked like he was going to try to speak again. 

Instead, Ron lunged toward her, his arms circling her waist and crushing her against him. Hermione was forced to put her arms around his neck to keep from lurching as he lifted her off the ground, up to his height. It felt so good to be back in his arms again that she couldn’t keep the tears from clouding her vision. 

Ron’s lips were against her shoulder. She could feel the whisper of his eyelashes against her neck. When he spoke, she felt the words against her skin. It sent shivers up her spine. “Hermione, I need you to understand … to understand how beautiful you are.” His voice broke. 

“Ron—” she implored, trying to get him to stop. His words caused more emotions than she could deal with. 

“No, you don’t get it. I know I’ve been acting barking lately, but it’s not … I couldn’t let you leave without knowing I think you’re gorgeous ... too gorgeous.” 

Hermione was speechless. She wanted to look him in the eyes and see if he really meant it, but his head wouldn’t budge. 

After long moments, he whispered, emotion heavy in his voice, “I’ll miss you.” He pressed his lips roughly to her cheek. They lingered. It was the first time he ever kissed her. She stayed as still as she could, afraid to break whatever spell they were under. 

“Goodbye,” Ron croaked. He set her down and quickly jogged past her and back to his family. 

Hermione stared after him, her hand gently touching her cheek where he had kissed her, knowing it was clichéd and not caring in the least. She tasted salt as tears ran over her lips. A million emotions bubbled inside her. She tried to ignore the one emotion that threatened to overwhelm her. 

A smile crept over her face. It was hope. 

 

* * * * * *


	10. Trapped

Ginevra Weasley sat perched on the back of her sofa at the Burrow, staring out the window at nothing in particular.  It was a beautiful summer mid-morning, not too hot, not too humid, not one cloud in the sky.  Ginny had been sitting with her forehead against the glass since breakfast.

 

“Dear, why don’t you go see if your brother wants to go flying?” her mother called from the kitchen in a soft concerned voice.  

 

Ginny knew that it would all too soon escalate to orders and bullying.  It had been this way all summer.  Mrs. Weasley kept her two youngest locked away at the Burrow, and then sweetly entreated them to “go play.”  Her daughter was having none of it.  Until she was out of her cozy little prison she was on strike.  As for her brother …

 

She gazed out at Ron, who stood by the pond throwing pebbles, most likely taking his latent aggression out on the poor frogs.  He had been sullen and withdrawn all summer, grunting responses to questions and snapping far too easily.  Their mother thought he was punishing her for her over protectiveness, she had grumbled about it often enough.

 

It made Ginny wonder if the woman knew her son at all.  Ron didn’t pout and sulk when he was angry.  No, he yelled, he screamed, he argued.  Even his silences radiated with a stiff fury.  When Ron was heated at you. _everybody_ knew it.  He didn’t have a subtle bone in his body.

 

No, the Ron by the pond wasn’t angry.  He was confused, worried, scared … maybe, heartsick over a girl … definitely, lonely for his best friends … completely.  Mostly, though, he was a bloke who hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in over a month.  So, why was it that Ginny was the only one who noticed?

 

“Ginevra Weasley,” her portly mother called in a commanding voice.  “Will you stop this incessant moping and _do_ something?”  She slapped her dishrag down for emphasis and put her hands on her hips.

 

“What do you suggest, mother?” Ginny replied without wavering her outward gaze.

 

“If you were listening, I suggested that you go flying with your brother.”  There was anger in Molly’s voice now.

 

“Ron doesn’t want to fly with me,” Ginny said softy.  He wanted Harry and Hermione.

 

“How do you know if you don’t ask him?”  Mrs. Weasley demanded, the volume of her voice steadily rising.

 

“I know.”

 

“Well, do something else.  Just get off the ruddy sofa!”

 

When Molly Weasley used _that_ tone of voice, her children jumped.   _Usually_.  Ginny rolled her head along the pane of glass and looked into her mother’s blazing eyes.  She fought the ingrained urge to wither and turned to her own simmering rage.

 

Starting a row was easy.  She just had to choose a subject and there were plenty to choose from.  Being held hostage left one with plenty of time to nurse their anger.  Ginny chose to start with the safest of grips, the one most easily justified and least likely to land her in tears.

 

“Fine, then,” the teenager replied defiantly.  “I’ll just owl my friends and tell them I’ll be meeting them at Diagon Alley.”

 

Her mother scoffed.  “Friends!  Dean Thomas, you mean.”

 

“And what’s so wrong with that?”  Ginny demanded.  This had become a common argument in their household.  It was pulled out whenever one wanted to avoid the real issues.  

 

Not that this wasn’t a _real_ issue.  Ginny had the right to some happiness and fun in her life, something to take her mind off all the horror.  At the moment, Dean was the only normal teenage thing in her life and even _that_ was denied to her.

 

“Ginevra you are fourteen years-old.  You are not going on a _date_ to Diagon Alley!”

 

“I’ll be fifteen in _nine_ days,” Ginny argued.

 

Molly shook her head, turning away from her daughter and the tired argument.  “Fifteen is still too young to be meeting boys in Diagon Alley.”  She turned and walked back into the kitchen.

 

Ginny rolled her eyes.  Silently, she cursed herself for _ever_ letting Ron know about Dean.  She never would have, if it hadn’t been for her stupid pride.  Stupid pride that made her lie about Michael and who broke up with whom, then made her brag about Dean Thomas.  All so she wouldn’t look _undesirable_ in front of her brother and ruddy Harry Potter.

 

If she hadn’t told Ron, Dean would be Ginny’s boyfriend right now.  All his letters hinted at a question that he was going to ask her in person.  It was quite clear what that question was.  Dean’s letters were not subtle.  Actually, they were warm and lovely, the one bright spot in this whole horrid summer.  Quite unlike some _other_ letters she had received.

 

Damn Ron and all her bloody brothers for that matter.  Not only had Ron gleefully announced Dean as “more than a friend,” to her parents, but he’d done it in front of twins.  The twins, of _course_ , had to steal one of Dean’s letters, and Fred enthusiastically read it out-loud at the dinner table.  Thus causing Ginny’s banishment from Diagon Alley.

 

Ron had been right satisfied with himself, muttering about how Dean wasn’t good enough for her, stupid git.  Who the hell was he?  How Hermione put up with him, Ginny would never know.  With his sister, Ron was merely protective, with Hermione he was down right _possessive_.  Poor girl.

 

Ginny really needed to get Ron back for that.  Problem was the boy was so miserable she didn’t have the heart.  She _had_ gotten Fred back, though, and _good_.  Made sure Mum knew exactly what had he did with Angelina, alone in his room, while she was out doing “her errands” for the Order.

 

Irate now, after her reverie, Ginny got up and followed her mother.  Arguing was one of the only things there was to _do_ around there.  Molly was clanging through the kitchen, more to make noise than to get anything done.

 

“Fine, then,” Ginny said, picking up the argument where it left of as she crossed her arms obstinately in the kitchen entranceway.  “I want to see Harry.  Surely, I’m old enough to see _him_.”  She held her breath as she waited for a reply, moving on to common-Weasley-row-topic-number-two was always a risk.  It meant that tears and humiliation were just around the bend.

 

Mrs.  Weasley turned and she met her daughter’s gaze.  She looked tired.  “Ginny, we’ve had this argument before.”  

 

No kidding.  They’d had this argument before and they’d keep having it until Harry was safe at the Burrow.  “Mum, something’s wrong.  I know it.   _Really_ wrong.”  Her voice broke.  Damn voice.

 

Molly came over and guided her daughter unto a chair, speaking in a tone designed to soothe.  “Nothing’s wrong.  Someone checks with him nearly everyday.  Your father saw him just two days ago.”

 

Ginny huffed angrily, her voice rising with each sentence.  “Yeah and Harry wouldn’t let Dad through the doorway.  Wouldn’t even spare a moment to talk with him.  It was his sixteenth _birthday_ , Mum, and he wasn’t interested, not in people, not in presents.  I bet he hasn’t even opened them.  There hasn’t been one letter thanking us.  That’s _not_ Harry, Mum.”

 

The older woman looked deeply distressed as she took a seat next to her daughter.  “Your father said he seemed quite chipper, said the Dursleys were treating him well this year.”

 

Ginny shook her head with pursed, angry lips.  “He’s furious.  He’s punishing us for abandoning him.”  She was disappointed in herself for the weepiness in her voice.  She didn’t need her mother to know how deeply she cared for Harry, but that was the risk she took by bringing the subject up.   _One day_ she would be able to do it without the tears.

 

Molly put her arm around her and squeezed her with her best motherly warmth.  Even as Ginny felt comforted she resented her need for it.  “He’s not angry with us, dear.”

 

“How do you know?”  Ginny demanded.  “You’ve seen his letters.  One, two lines at the most.  ‘I’m fine, see you back at school.’ Even when you wrote him and told him he could come to the Burrow, ‘No, that’s not a good idea.  I’m safer here.  See you soon.’  That is _not_ Harry, Mum.  Something’s really wrong.”  She was yelling by the end.

 

Molly smoothed her hair and kissed her crown.  “He’s in mourning, love.  Everyone has to do that in his or her own way.  He just needs time.”

 

“He’s drowning in time.  He _needs_ his friends.”

 

“Tell you what, dear?  I’ll go with your father tomorrow and see him myself.”

 

Ginny shook her head, trying not to blink and cause the tears to fall.  “He needs ... ”  He needs me.  “Ron and Hermione.  The rest of us aren’t good enough.”

 

“Codswallop, Ginny,” her mother said, appalled.  “Don’t you ever say that about yourself!”

 

Ginny had given too much away.  She’d been too transparent.  Carefully, Ginny put on a veil of false confidence and looked intently at her mother.  “Let me go with you tomorrow.  Maybe I can—”

 

Mrs. Weasley was shaking her head, standing, putting distance between them.  “I’m not going over this again, Ginevra,” she said sternly, going back to her chores.

 

“But, Mum—”

 

“I’m worried about him as well.  We’ll figure out a way to get him to come and stay with us, all right?”

 

No, it was not “all right.”  Nothing was _all right_.  Not _one_ bloody thing.  But Ginny didn’t have much choice.  She nodded, slumping in her chair.

 

“Oh look, Hedwig’s here,” Molly said, causing Ginny to look up.  “Letters from Harry.”  She detached the letter from the owl’s leg.  “And Hermione, as well.  Hedwig must have gone to see her before coming here.  That’s why you didn’t get a thank-you owl yesterday, dear.”  Molly stroked Hedwig and gave her a biscuit, before handing her daughter two letters.

 

Ginny hid the way her hand trembled by opening Harry’s letter as quickly as she could.

 

            _Dear Ginny,_

_Thank you so much for your kind gift.  Hope you’re having a good summer._

_Harry_

 

Ginny threw down the letter with disgust.  “Ruddy rubbish!” she bit out, because the words she _wanted_ to use would get a silencing charm placed on her for a week.

 

Molly anxiously picked up the letter and read it.  Frowning, she said shakily, “See there, he liked your gift.  He’s fine.”  

 

Her daughter gave her a skeptical look.  “Mum, he hasn’t even opened the gifts.”

 

“Of course, he has.  Look here,” Molly pointed at the letter.

 

“It says nothing.  Nothing at all.”

 

Molly sighed and looked off into the distance.  “He’s fine,” she said.  Ginny suspected she was trying to convince herself more than anyone.

 

Scowling, Ginny grabbed Hermione’s considerably more substantial letter and skimmed it.  Hermione had finally gotten her own copy of _The Legend and Legacy of the Empath_ from Dean.  Unfortunately, the only copy he could get was in the original German and it was taking her forever to translate it.  It was worth it, though, to be able to read a version that wasn’t corrupted by that bitch.

 

Six bloody weeks Harry was stuck in that prison and not a word from Adrianna.  It was _her_ fault that Harry was acting like a Goddamned zombie.  She had stirred him up and abandoned him, pushing him right over the edge.  God, how Ginny hated her.

 

And she was going to find out what Adrianna wanted from them if it was the last thing Ginny did.

  
  


* * * * *

 

           

 

Ron stood out by the pond, trying to skip stones and failing miserably.  His pebbles plunked into the water, scaring away the frogs.  No doubt, if Ginny were there, she would accuse him of trying to murder the poor wretched creatures.  

 

Feeling the effort to stand was no longer worth it, he slumped to the ground and threw the rest of the stones into the pond with one last frustrated toss.  Ron felt like a caged animal.   

The Burrow had been nothing but quiet and serene all summer, while Ron knew the outside world was on the brink of explosion.  Just like him.  On the brink.  He felt himself changing, getting ready for something, and it wasn’t just … his breath left him in a rush.  Hermione.

 

 _Hermione_.  To be honest, that was a big part of it, the heart of a change from being obsessed with Quidditch and Chocolate Frog Cards to being obsessed with girls.  Not girls.  A girl.  

 

Ron wished he had someone to talk to about it.   _That_ alone was new.  Ron Weasley, wanting to talk.  About his feelings.  Bizarre.  But this just couldn’t be normal.  Thinking about your best mate _all_ day long.

 

What he really wanted was talk to Harry, _really_ talk to him.  None of this distracted bollocks.  None of these terse, impersonal letters that were, frankly, an insult to their friendship.

 

Ron knew he was being selfish.  He knew that Harry was dealing with some really huge shite right now.  He knew he should be worried about his best mate, God knew the rest of his family was.  Ginny moped about it morning, noon, and night.  “Poor Harry blah blah blah.”

 

Thing was, sometimes, Ron couldn’t fucking care less.  If Harry wanted to pout and ignore them, making Ginny and Mum _and_ Hermione cry then he could just take a flying leap for all Ron cared.

 

Harry wasn’t the only one with baggage.  He wasn’t the only one at the Department of Mysteries that night.  Hermione had almost died for fuck’s sake.  Hermione had almost died and every night, in Ron’s nightmares, she did die.  Every _bloody_ night.

 

It had gotten so bad that Ron had almost asked his mum for her special tea, but then he would have had to tell her why he wanted it, and _that_ was the last thing he needed.

 

Ron flopped back onto the grass and closed his eyes.  Maybe he’d try for a nap.  The sleep he got during the daytime was always much better than the sleep he got at night.  Probably because his daytime dreams about Hermione were of a completely different nature, a more pleasurable nature.

 

 A perverted nature, true, but pleasant all the same.  He smiled, giving himself over to his new favorite pastime.  Ron imagined Hermione walking toward him, across the yard wearing only a small sundress … 

  

No.  He remembered that his last owl from her was from the beach where she was on holiday.  Mmm, Hermione in a bikini.  He imagined her sprawled out on the sand, lying on her stomach.  She’d be reading, of course, so intently that she wouldn’t hear him approach.  She’d have her hair pulled up in a knot, but it wouldn’t be tamed.  Sweaty curls would be escaping everywhere.

 

Hermione wouldn’t notice him until he’d leaned over her and pressed his lips against her moist, sun-kissed back.  She’d gasp and turn over.  She’d be breathing heavily, so her breasts would be heaving, spilling out of her bathing suit.  Ron wouldn’t be able to stand it.  He’d have to touch them.  He’d run his fingertips over the soft, smooth skin and she’d let him.  Encouraged, he’d cup her breasts in his hands.  She’d moan and …

 

Shite.  Whose bright idea was it to do this out here?  Now, he was painfully aroused and could do nothing about it.  Ron opened his eyes, blinking at the sun.  He willed himself to calm down enough to go up to his room and finish the fantasy properly.

 

As Ron sat up, he caught sight of Hedwig flying in the kitchen window.  Groaning, he wondered if he even wanted another depressing letter from Harry.  He dragged himself to his feet.  No use putting it off.  Maybe if the letter was bad enough he’d have a good excuse to go to his room and have his mum leave him alone.  

 

He made his way across the garden and into the house.  Ginny sat at the kitchen table reading a long letter.  When she looked up at him, Ron raised his eyebrows in question.   _That_ couldn’t be from Harry?

 

Ginny shook her head in answer to his silent question.  “This one’s from Hermione.   _That’s_ from Harry.”  She flicked a letter at him.

 

Ron picked it up the single piece of parchment and read the few lines.  He threw it down in disgust and picked up the two unopened letters on the table.  He tore open Harry’s first.  It was almost exactly the same as Ginny’s, his fist tightened around the parchment.  Ron made it into a ball and tossed it angrily across the room.

 

His mother’s eyes flashed and she opened her mouth to reprimand him, but then she looked him over and sighed, going back to her housework.  Ron sullenly threw himself into a chair and opened Hermione’s letter.

 

_Dear Ron,_

            _I received a letter from Harry today.  He didn’t even mention the treats and such I sent him for his birthday.  It was terribly discourteous of him and not at all like Harry.  We need to find a way to get him out of there.  He’s clearly horribly depressed …_

 

Ron scoffed, how could she tell he’s depressed?  No one could tell anything from those bloody letters.

           

            _As soon as I get back from holiday, I’ll try to convince my parents to let me come to the Burrow._

 

Ron’s heartbeat quickened.  It was about bloody time.

 

            _Once we put our head’s together, I’m sure we’ll think of something.  My parents are a worry though.  They’ve begun complaining that I’m never home, which, I suppose, is true._

 

He groaned.

 

            _Torquay is beautiful and the weather is brilliant, though I’m finding the beach rather dull …_

 

Images of her in a bathing suit came back.  And ideas of how to soothe her doldrums.

 

_The cottage we’re staying at once belonged to a witch 200 years ago by the name of Bess Butterflower.  I’m really enjoying researching the history of this place._

_My Parents wouldn’t let me bring_ The Legend and Legacy of The Empath _.  They said that I shouldn’t be translating on holiday, but it’s left me rather restless.  It would be much more fun if you were here, and Harry and Ginny, of course._

 

Ron wanted nothing more.  Though, he could leave out the Harry and Ginny part.  It would kinda put a damper on the whole fantasy …

 

            _If we could just be together again, I know everything would be all right again._

_I miss you._

 

_Love,_

_Hermione_

 

I miss you.  Love, Hermione.

 

The words repeated themselves over and over in Ron’s head, his heart beating erratically.  It didn’t _mean_ anything, did it?  She probably wrote that to everyone.  He turned to Ginny and tried to sneak a peak at her letter to see how Hermione had signed it.  Ron’s eyes narrowed as he saw her flip through page after page of letter.

 

“Hey, how come your letter is longer?”  Ron demanded accusingly, trying to push down the hurt and disappointment he felt.

 

Ginny rolled her eyes.  “Probably because Hermione knew you couldn’t deal with four pages detailing the _fascinating_ cottage she’s staying at, as well as the life and times of one Bess Butterflower.  Don’t know why she thinks _I_ care?”  Ginny scanned the pages.  “Oh, look, gasp, it’s even attached to the Floo Network.”

 

“What!”  Ron roared, snatching the letter out of her hand.  “She’s been in a cottage with a Floo for a week and she didn’t tell me!”  He frantically looked over the page, not really seeing anything.  “Hermione could be here tomorrow, even if it’s just for the afternoon.  Right, Mum?”

 

“Mmm?  Oh, yes.  Of course, dear.  Of course.”

 

“Hedwig still here?”  Ron asked, grabbing parchment and a quill.  Ginny nodded looking at him as if he were a loon.  Ron started scribbling:

 

_Hermione,_

 

_I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you were attached to the Floo Network.  You have to visit tomorrow.  Tell your parents I … we need you.  You can be back at the cottage before dinner, if they insist. _

 

Ron paused, not sure how to sign the letter.  “Love was too out of character for him, but what … he was wasting too much time.  He scribbled a simple “ _Ron”_ and folded the letter, addressing the envelope.  Then he reconsidered and opened the letter back up, scribbling at the bottom:

 

_P. S.  I miss you, as well._

 

He shoved the letter into the envelope.  “Hedwig, come here.”  He placated the bird by giving her a biscuit as he attached the letter.  “Take this _straight_ to Hermione.”

           

“Ron!”  Ginny admonished.  “You have your own ruddy owl.  You can’t send Hedwig back without a letter for Harry.”

 

Yeah, like Ron was going to trust Pig with this.  He needed it to get there _today_.  “Fine.”  He grabbed another piece of parchment.

 

_Harry,_

 

_You’re not bloody fine!  Stop being such a damn idiot and get your arse to the Burrow._

 

_Ron_

 

  

“Happy?” he asked his sister.

 

Ginny glanced at the letter as he folded it, exclaiming, “Ron.”  She slapped him on the arm.  “I can’t believe you.”  But she was laughing and Ron knew that a part of her wanted to say the same thing.

 

He attached the second letter to Hedwig’s scaly leg.  “Now remember, straight to Hermione first.”

  
  


* * * * *

  


           

Hermione sat in a beach chair, next to her parents, on the sandy coastline of Torquay.  She stretched out her legs so that the lower half of her body was out of the shadows of their large beach umbrella and could be warmed by the sun.  

 

She was leaning back with her eyes closed, but she cracked her left eye open to peer at her mother who, as predicted, was glaring at her bare legs with disapproval.  Hermione waited to see if she would comment, but her mother merely tutted and shook her head as she went back to her book.

 

Hermione bit her lip to keep from smiling.  She had heard the long diatribes about the dangers of the sun since before she could talk.  She had endured the copious amounts of suntan lotion and the series of ugly hats.  So, why her parents had decided to drag her to the beach for a two-week holiday was beyond her comprehension.  

 

The Doctors Granger’s parenting choices this summer had been odd to say the least.  They had decided to forgo their usual family holiday to a historic cultural site for sunny Torquay so Hermione could “relax” and “be a normal teenager.”

 

After a lifetime of encouraging her to avoid any “frivolous activities” in favor of “enrichment,” _now_ her parents expected her to lie on the beach and flirt with strange boys?  Yet, she was to remain completely out of the sun while doing so, of course.  Maybe she was also supposed to flirt with boys in an enriching, _non-frivolous_ way.

  

Well, Hermione was bored out of her mind.  Thank heavens for the German Language CDs now in her Discman.  Just because her parents wouldn’t let her do any actually translating didn’t mean she couldn’t prepare.

 

Though Hermione did feel a tad guilty for listening to the CD.  She knew her parents thought it was classical music.  In a way, she was being too hard on her mother and father.  None of this was their fault.  They were just trying to reconnect with her as best they knew how.  

 

The Grangers were quiet, unassuming people.  They enjoyed books and culture and solitude.  They had a few friends who were just like them, but otherwise they kept to themselves and very much fancied it that way.  They weren’t very good at connecting with people in general, not to mention a daughter with magical powers who was growing up quickly in a place they could never visit.  

 

Her parents had no idea that Hermione came close to dying six weeks ago.  They thought she had been relaxing after exams, not embroiled in battle next to the people who meant more to her than life itself.  They didn’t know that one of their number had been murdered that night.  They didn’t even know that her best friend was in a self-imposed exile, where he was withering away, probably punishing his friends for last summer when he felt they had abandoned him.  

 

Her parents couldn’t understand that there was no point in flirting with boys on the beach, as Hermione was already completely in love with her _other_ best friend.

 

How could they know any of this?  She spent an absurd amount of time trying to shield them from it.  It was no wonder that Hermione felt so isolated from her parents.  Home didn’t even feel like home anymore.  She wished she were at Hogwarts, or Grimmauld Place, or the Burrow …

 

Hermione took a deep breath and pulled out a batch of letters from her beach bag.  Flipping through Harry’s cold letters, she felt a familiar rage.  She had long since directed all her frustration and anger at Harry’s predicament at one person, Harry’s betraying cousin.  This gave her not only an outlet for her rage, but a place to focus her mental energy.

 

She reread Ginny’s letters.  They had been detailing everything that they could remember about Adrianna and the Empath texts that they had read at Hogwarts.  The letters were filled with speculation and theories about why that woman came into Harry’s life in the first place, and what kind of threat she could be in the future.

 

So far, they had come up with very little.  Yet, Hermione had faith that they’d figure it out, eventually.

 

“Dear,” Mrs. Granger whispered to her.  Hermione started, looking up and pulling off her headphones.  It wasn’t until then that she realized that she hadn’t really been listening to the disk and hit “stop.”

 

“Dear, is that your owl?”  Her mother asked with obvious embarrassment.  As supportive as her parents tried to be, obvious displays of Hermione’s _differentness_ flustered them.  The Grangers didn’t enjoy attention.   _Different_ always brought attention.

 

Hermione looked over to see Hedwig land and perch on the arm of her deck chair.  She frowned, stroking the beautiful bird.  Uneasily, she removed the letters from Hedwig’s outstretched limb.  This was strange.  She had already received a letter from Harry this morning.  

 

She recognized Ron’s messy scrawl and her heart rate increased.  Noticing one letter was for Harry she gave it back to Hedwig, who took flight before Hermione had a chance to thank her, obviously anxious to get back to her master.  At least Hedwig had access to Harry.

 

Hermione turned Ron’s letter over in her hands, looking anxiously at her parents.  “I’m going for a walk,” she said absently as she stood.

 

“Oh … um, all right then,” her mother sputtered as Hermione walked toward the water.  “Hermione, dear!”

           

The girl looked back to see her mother holding out Hermione’s large floppy hat and her bathing suit cover-up.  She suppressed the urge to resist and went back, jamming the ugly hat on her head and wrapping the shawl around her waist.  Clearly, her modest one-piece bathing suit was not modest enough.

 

Hermione walked some distance down the waters edge before she found a quiet place near a rock formation where she could read her letter and not have to cautiously temper her reactions.

 

She opened the letter with care and scanned the messy words.  An almost hysterical laugh erupted from of her.  The letter was almost as short as one of Harry’s.  But it was anything but cold.

 

Heavens, Ron made her so confused.  She had been trying to figure out where she stood with him since he told her she was beautiful at the train station.  It wasn’t easy when all she had was letters.  It wasn’t as though he was _open_ about his feelings.

 

But then there were letters like _this_.  Letters demanding her presence, showing her he missed her better than a hundred “I miss you”s ever could.  And it all led to dangerous expectations.  After all, Hermione could be seeing just what she wanted to see.  Ron was never perfectly explicit about anything.  She could just be setting herself up for heartbreak.

 

It didn’t matter, not really.  Her decision from the last night in the hospital wing stood.  Whatever Ron needed from her, she’d give.  Whatever he was willing to give her, she’d take.  She loved him.  Hermione might not ever feel just this way about anyone again and she wasn’t going to waste the opportunity.  She’d just have to start storing up the memories now.

 

Hermione looked down at Ron’s letter.  She wanted to go to the Burrow so badly it hurt, but it was more than a matter of convincing her parents.  She was in the middle of a Muggle beach village, Floo or no Floo.  She didn’t have any Floo powder, and without that, the connection to the Network was useless.  What’s more, she didn’t have any idea how to get some.  She didn’t even know where to find an owl to send Ron a letter.  

 

She was completely stranded from the wizarding world.  Hermione would just have to wait until someone else wrote her again.  Imagining Ron’s reaction when she didn’t show up tomorrow, with no reply to his letter, made her restless and agitated.

 

 _Damn it_ , she hated being in the Muggle world.  She hated it.  She hated it.  Hermione didn’t belong here.  Maybe when she didn’t show up, Ron would just Floo to her, just to tell her off.  Ron, with her, on the beach …

 

Hermione walked over to the water and stood with her feet in the ocean, being lapped by the tide.  She wrapped her arms around herself and imagined that they were his arms around her, holding her tightly against him, his breath against her cheek, like it had been at the train station.  His lips against her cheek, her neck, her …

 

Maybe _then_ , the beach wouldn’t be so bad.

  
  


* * * * *

  
  


Dolohov’s wand was pointed at Hermione.  Ron yelled to her, but she didn’t move, didn’t raise her wand.  He heard the Death Eater say the words clearly, slowly, distinctly, “ _Avada Kadavra.”_

 

Ron couldn’t move.  He yelled, “Hermione, no!”  He struggled to run to her, but a dozen hands restrained him, held him back from her.  He screamed and screamed, but to no avail.  Ron watched her fall, slowly, to the floor.  All the while Dolohov laughed.

 

He turned to his captors, sobbing, begging them to let him go to her.  Ron found all five of his brothers holding him back with blank emotionless expressions.  He turned back to Hermione, but the scene had changed.  They were in a funeral home and a casket stood where Hermione had fallen.

 

“ _No_!  No, she is _not_ dead!  Let me go!” he bellowed at his brothers, but the restraining arms wouldn’t budge.

 

Harry and Ginny were up by the casket and he called to them for help, but they didn’t answer.  They looked down into the casket.  They seemed bored.  Harry yawned and whispered something into Ginny’s ear.  She shrugged carelessly and wove her arm through his.  She leaned up and kissed his cheek.  Harry turned and pushed her up against the casket, crushing his lips to hers in a disgusting open-mouthed kiss that Ron’s sister returned enthusiastically.

 

He pulled harder at his brothers’ arms, roaring every obscenity he could think of at Harry, hollering Hermione’s name.  Finally, Ron broke away and began running and running and running …

           

Then he was running through a cemetery on a bright summer’s day.  He saw a cluster of redheads in the distance where a casket was being levitated into the ground.  Ron was out of breath and his lungs burned, but still he ran, screaming.  “It’s not true.  She’s not dead.  Don’t do it …”

 

When he finally arrived, his family was walking away and the grave was covered.  Harry turned to him and shrugged casually.  “Too late, mate.  She’s gone for good.”  He pivoted and walked away.

 

Ron fell to his knees sobbing, digging at the soil with his bare hands.  He knew Hermione was down there.  She was trapped …

     

When he finally awoke from his nightmare he jumped from his bed, needing to get as far away from his dream as possible.  Running a hand over his face, he found it drenched with tears.  Crap!  He hated it when he cried.  Fucking weak, that’s what he was.

 

Ron paced his small bedroom feeling trapped and desperate.  He could hear his own heart thundering in his ears and found himself tugging at his hair until it hurt.  He needed to see Hermione.  He needed to see her _now_.

 

He considered using magic and to hell with the consequences, but how?  Ron didn’t know how to Apparate, he’d splinch himself for sure … then he remembered.  Hermione was attached to the Floo Network.  He could Floo over to her cottage, make sure she was all right, and be back before anyone was the wiser.

 

Ron grabbed a t-shirt and headed for the door.

 

  
  


* * * * *

 

 

           

Ginny wasn’t sure exactly what woke her up, but judging from the moonlight filtering in her window it was _not_ the sounds of the household waking for the morning.  She flipped over and snuggled back into her pillow, determined to go back to sleep.  

 

She heard a soft thud above her and then footsteps.  Her heart accelerated and she sat up, listening warily.  The twins had the room above her, but they had moved into their own flat a month ago, after the whole “Angelina incident.”  Ron was two floors up and her parents, two floors down.  They were _supposed_ to be the only people in the house.

 

A floorboard creaked on the stairs and Ginny leapt out of bed, rummaging for her wand.  If this was Ron’s idea of a joke, she was going to annihilate him.  She placed her ear on the door.  Hearing nothing, she slowly opened it.  

 

She’d just creep down and wake her parents.  If it was just Ron, then he deserved her mother’s wrath for scaring her like this.

 

As Ginny slipped out the door, a sound drew her eyes to the stairs leading to the fourth floor.  A black robed figure raised a wand and pointed it at her.  That was the last thing she remembered.

  
  


* * * * *

  
  


Author’s Note:

 

Torquay is a real place.  They called it the “British Riviera” and it sounded like a place that might have a 200 year-old cottage.  If someone has been there and it’s not what I imagine, I apologize.  The only place I’ve been to in Britain is London.  I’ve been to the real Rivera, but didn’t seem logical that that would be attached to the Floo network.  Thanks for reading.

  



	11. Intruders

Ron dusted the soot off of his pajamas as he climbed out of the fireplace and into the kitchen of Butterflower Cottage.  He surveyed the warm rustic room, a pristine throwback to two-hundred years ago, except for the few bizarre Muggle devices scattered about.  They looked ridiculously out of place.  

 

Hermione had breakfast in this room.  She used those foolish Muggle thingies.  Maybe she even wrote Ron’s letters on this table.  And she was sleeping somewhere in this house.  

 

He was going to see her in just a few minutes.  All the air left Ron’s lungs, as an anxious fluttering settled in his stomach.  His hand trembled as he pulled Ginny’s letter from Hermione out of the waistband of his pajamas bottoms, the one his sister had so thoughtfully left on the kitchen table.  

 

Ron couldn’t understand why he was so nervous.  It was just Hermione for god’s sake.  His best mate, the one who he’d spent the last five years seeing almost daily.  It was _just_ Hermione.

 

He squinted at her neat and precise handwriting.  The barmy girl had described the whole bloody cottage.  She might as well have drawn a map.  He smiled to himself.  What would he do without her?

 

According to the letter, Hermione was sleeping in the loft and the stairs were … off the kitchen.  That was convenient.  Ron forced himself to take a deep breath as he made his way through the darkened room and up the stairs.

 

At the top, there was a single door.  Ron held his breath and reached out for the doorknob.  For a moment he faltered, his hand hovering mid-air.  What the _bloody hell_ did he think he was doing?  He was about to sneak into Hermione’s room in the middle of the night.  She was going to flay him alive.

 

But filet or not, at least he’d get to see her.  Taking advantage of the rush of desperate courage that filled him, Ron quickly turned the knob and slipped through the door, closing it behind him.  When he turned and saw her, he almost wept like the poncey fool he was.

 

Ron knew he missed her, but ... God, how he’d missed her.  He closed his eyes and opened them again to make sure she wouldn’t disappear.  It had been one fucking _long_ summer.

 

Hermione lay on her back on the narrow wooden bed, a halo of curls framing her peaceful features.  It was a warm summer night and she had kicked off her quilt.  Ron could see her bare feet and legs.  She was wearing light-blue cotton short pajamas.  They probably weren’t _supposed_ to be sexy.

 

Had she always been _this_ beautiful?  Surely not, how would he have got anything done over the last five years?  He would never have been able to leave Hermione alone with another bloke.  Ron was going to have to watch the smarmy bastards closely this year.

 

He moved toward her, watching her steady breath, reveling in each restless motion.  She looked so _alive_.  Ron should be satisfied with that and leave, but for some reason his legs kept moving in the direction opposite to the door.

 

“Ron,” she muttered.

 

He froze.  Bloody hell, he’d woken her.  He should have left.  He shouldn’t have come.  What was he going to do now?  Shite.  Shite.  Shite.

 

But minutes passed and Hermione didn’t open her eyes.  “I couldn’t …” she murmured, eyes firmly shut.  Ron let out a breath of relief.  She was only dreaming.

 

“Ron,” she moaned, making his heart speed up to a frightening pace.  “I wanted to come …”

 

Was she dreaming about _him_?  Oh God, Hermione _was_ dreaming about him.  Was it a good dream?   _Please_ , let it be a good dream.

 

 “Ron,” she groaned, low and husky.

 

His eyes widened.  Shite!  That tone of voice … was it a sex dream?  About _Ron_?  No way!  Now, he _really_ needed to leave.  He should run out of this room and get himself back to the Burrow as fast as was magically possible.  

 

Yeah, right.  There was _no way_ Ron was leaving without finding out what Hermione was dreaming about.  Carefully, he sat on the edge of her bed.  He didn’t want to wake her.  He just needed to gather a few clues.  Hermione was flushed.  “Ron, please,” she said again.  

 

The way she said it made him instantly hard.  Could she really be having an erotic dream about him?  Just the idea that Hermione would have _any_ sort of sex dream was incredibly arousing, but for it to be about Ron …?  That was just … _wow_.

 

Hermione moved her head restlessly on her pillow, causing a curl to fall onto her face.  Why did he have the urge to brush it away?  Stupid, daft thing to do.  He knew what happened when he touched her.  He lost all control.  But obviously Ron had already lost control, because his hand was sweeping her cheek, tucking a frizzy curl behind her ear.

 

The expected cascade came on quickly.  He was acting instinctively.  No voluntary control was left over his body.  Her lips moved and he leaned closer to hear better, even as he told himself not to.  He couldn’t stop thinking that her skin was so soft.  Was that natural?  Ron had to feel it again.  

 

As he laid his hand on her cheek her eyelids fluttered and Ron froze.  In that moment, he wanted her to wake up.  Wake up and talk to him.  Rail at him maybe, but he needed to hear her voice.  He had missed her so bloody much.   

 

Hermione’s eyes opened and met his.  Ron hadn’t realized how close he’d leaned in.  She smiled a dreamy smile and it occurred to him that she wasn’t fully awake.  Then she reached up and put her small hands on either side of his head.

 

Ron had no idea what was happening.  He had a brief moment of panic when he felt her pull his head down to hers.  This couldn’t _really_ be happening.  Hermione wasn’t _actually_ kissing him?

 

But then their mouths were pressed together and her lips were soft and full.  Wow.  Who knew that the feel of two sets of lips, pressed together, no movement, no finesse, could feel so bloody brilliant?  Wow.  This was actually happening.

           

Snapping out of his shock, Ron realized that Hermione wasn’t pulling away.  Move, Idiot!  Terrified, he took his own advice and brushed his lips across hers.  Just once.  An experiment.  Please, let this be ok.

 

She hummed, a soft pleased sound, which made Ron swell with pride.  Well, he was swelling with more than just pride when she began to respond.  Soon their lips were fluttering against each other’s in a brilliant sort of rhythm that held no rhythm at all.  Hermione lightly sucked at his mouth.  Damn, the woman was a bleeding genius.

 

All right then.  They were really, really kissing.  Ron had better make sure he didn’t fuck it up.  He tilted his head to the side to try for a better angle, tangling his hands in her curls.  He tried to remember every person he’d ever seen kissing, every moving picture in Mum’s secret stash of novels, every dirty picture he ever stole from an older brother … he _should_ be able to figure out what to do.  Ron had visualized kissing Hermione often enough.

 

In the end, however, the feel of her responding was too much and he lost himself in the sensation.  He allowed instinct to take over, permitting him to increase the pressure.  And amazingly they started to move in tandem.  Hermione’s head fell back into her pillow and he followed.  The kiss just kept going and he could help the moan that spilled from him.

 

Too soon, Hermione tore away from him and pushed at his chest.  He fought it, not wanting to stop, wanting the kiss to last forever.

 

“Hermione,” Ron said just to remind himself that it was really her, that it really happened.  His eyelids opened slowly and found himself drowning in her incredible intelligent eyes.  Her cheeks were flushed and her lips swollen.  There had never been anyone _this_ stunning.

 

“Ron, what are you doing here?”

 

Ah _fuck_!

  
  


_* * * * *_

  
  


Hermione was sitting on the beach, her feet being lapped by the tide.  A warm breeze blew her sundress around her knees and whipped her frizzy curls across her cheeks.  The sun had long since set and she was alone.  The world held that hazy unreal quality that led her to believe she must be dreaming.

 

She felt him before he touched her, before she heard him approach.  “Ron,” Hermione breathed, without turning.  Such a lovely dream.  She thought she’d stay for awhile.

 

“You didn’t come,” Ron said softly, his breath close to her ear.

 

“I couldn’t—” Hermione tried to explain, turning toward him.

 

“Shhh,” he murmured, halting her, as she felt his body sitting behind her.  His arms encircled her waist, his legs slid on either side of hers.  His cheek pressed tightly to her temple, keeping her face looking forward, out toward the ocean.  

 

“Ron,” she moaned, as she felt his lips slid across her temple, her cheek, her neck.  

 

“I waited for you at the Burrow,” he breathed against her skin.

 

 She turned to look in his beautiful eyes.  “I wanted to come—”

 

Ron interrupted by seizing her mouth with his.  He did that a lot in her dreams.  It was lovely.  Hermione moaned and her eyes fluttered shut as the kiss became more and more intense.  He laid her back onto the beach.  

 

Hermione groaned when his lips left hers.  “Ron.”  She tried to open her eyes but they were glued shut.  She tried to reach for him, but her arms were lead.  All she could manage was a whimper, “Ron, please.”  

 

She felt him brush her hair away from her face and that simple touch was so much more intense than any that had come before.  More real.  Ron cupped her cheek.  It was … incredible, but why wouldn’t he kiss her again?

 

She wanted to see him.  She _needed_ to see him.  Concentrating all her effort, Hermione managed to wrench her eyes open.  Everything was blurry and out of focus.  She blinked to clear her vision and found herself gazing into Ron’ amazing cobalt eyes.  Eyes filled with intensity and heat.

 

Bliss filled her at the sight of him.  She knew she must be smiling like a fool.  Still, she didn’t understand why he wasn’t kissing her.  Well, she was tired of waiting for him.  This time when Hermione reached for him her arms moved readily.  She cupped his head in her hands and pulled his lips back to hers.

 

The contact was jolting, the experience more powerful than before, even though it was chaste in comparison.  Before, when Ron had kissed her, he had seemed self-assured, practiced.  He knew exactly when to move his lips.  He had pressed forward with demanding confidence.  

 

Now, his lips ... they were timid and shy, applying the barest of pressure.  Ron paused as if savoring the feel of her as he twined his hands in her hair.  This … _this_ was a first kiss.  But that didn’t make sense.  They had just been kissing.  Suddenly, Hermione was confused.  What was going on?

 

Then Ron moved his lips, and she forgot to think.  The kiss was almost reverent, just the softest brushes.  Pleased with the sensation, she moaned and carefully parted her lips, letting them glide.  It was odd, even _her_ lips didn’t seem to be moving as surely as they had before.  

 

Hermione found his bottom lip between hers and instinctively sucked.  This seemed to encourage Ron and he groaned, tilting his head to the side.  His mouth moved with increasing confidence, each successive slide was bolder, his lips wider, the tip of his tongue just grazing her mouth.

 

She tried to keep up, mimicking his movements, allowing intuition to take over.  Hermione was getting warm all over.  A strange, unfamiliar ache was developing in her pelvis.  One thought formed in her mind … this was _quite_ the first kiss.

 

First kiss.  This was her _first_ kiss.  With Ron.  The reality of the situation washed over her, the stark vividness of the sensations she was feeling.  This wasn’t a dream, not any more.

 

Her eyes snapped open.  Hermione was in the cottage at Torquay, in her bedroom … and Ron was really here.  Really kissing her.  Oh heavens.

 

Hermione pulled back from his lips, but Ron followed her.  She gave in and allowed herself to just enjoy the feel and taste of him for a moment more.  This _was_ her first real kiss after all.

 

She heard Ron moan and it triggered a bolt of sensation that shot straight to an as yet unknown spot in her groin.  The intensity of it frightened her, giving Hermione the strength to tear her lips from his and push his shoulders back.

 

He resisted her, wouldn’t go far, but it was far enough for her to look at his face.  Ron was flushed and breathing raggedly.  As his eyelids fluttered open he sighed, “Hermione.”

 

Her heart flipped over.  The look in his eyes was glassy and intense, she had seen it before, but hadn’t known what it meant.  “Ron,” she whispered, confused.  “What are you doing here?”

 

Panic flashed on Ron’s face.  His eyes cleared and he sat up, pulling away from her, making her hands drop away from his hair.  She shouldn’t have said anything.  She should have just kept kissing him.

 

Ron ran his hands over his face and through his hair, his eyes darting around the room apprehensively.  Hermione drew her knees up to her chest, for protection.  “God, Hermione, I …” his voice was hoarse as he trailed off.

 

“Ron you’re in my room, in the middle of the night, in Torquay.  Why?”  Hermione congratulated herself on how rational she sounded.  Though she _had_ left out the most important question.   _Why_ was he kissing her?

 

He met her gaze.  “Hermione, I’m sorry for—”

 

Please, please don’t be sorry for the kiss.

 

“—for waking you.”

 

Hermione had to laugh.  She smiled at him affectionately, her breathing returning to normal.  “Ron, is something wrong?  What are you _doing_ here?”

 

He looked away from her, then stood up and started to pace.  The attic room had a low ceiling and Ron’s head almost grazed the rafters with each pass.  He resumed his nervous face rubbing.

 

Hermione was starting to get uneasy about more than just the kiss.  She moved to sit on the edge of the bed.  What could be so bad that it would bring him here, in the middle of the night?  “Tell me what happened,” she insisted.  When he didn’t respond she called, “Ron!”

 

He paused at Hermione’s sudden yell.  Looking at her, Ron shook his head frenetically.  “Nothing.  Nothing happened …”

 

She gave a laugh of disbelief.

 

“I just … I just had a nightmare again, is all.  I needed to see you.”  Ron wouldn’t meet her eyes.

 

Would a nightmare be enough to bring him here?  And what about the kiss?  Hermione took in his tired, agitated appearance and remembered what his nightmares were like back at Hogwarts.  If they had worsened, Ron might be desperate enough to do something stupid.  For example, sneak off to Torquay in the middle of the night.  

 

“Ron.”  Hermione held out her hand to him.  “Come here,” she commanded softly.

 

As Ron stared at her, his lower lip began to tremble.  Instead of coming over to sit next to her as she had intended, he stumbled to her and fell to his knees.  He refused to look up.  Hiding his head in his hands, he let out an agonizing sob.

 

Her heart shattered.  Tears sprang to her own eyes, as she was infused with a sense of profound horror.  Hermione couldn’t remember the last time she had seen Ron cry.  In his dreams, yes, but not awake.  Had she _ever_ seen him cry?  Surely, she had.

 

“Please, Ron,” Hermione entreated, her throat thick.  She lifted his hands off of his face and he met her concerned gaze.  The pain in his eyes was almost too much for her.  He opened his mouth to say something, but in the end just shook his head.  

     

Hermione couldn’t find any words of her own so she wiped away his tears with her thumbs.  She couldn’t tell if it was the right thing to do because his breath hitched and he dropped his head onto her legs.  Sobbing in earnest now, he clutched at her thighs and buried his head in her lap.

 

Hermione looked at the ceiling, fighting her own sobs.  She _knew_ she had never seen Ron cry like _this_.  After a moment of internal struggle, she was able to gain control of herself, and she sifted her hands through shaggy ginger locks.  “Shhh,” she murmured, trying to be comforting, but knowing her own voice was too anguished to do much good.

 

“I couldn’t get to you,” Ron murmured into her legs, making the tears that had pooled in her eyes spill over and drop onto his hair.  “I tried so hard.  They said you were dead, but I didn’t believe them—”

 

“Shhh, I’m here now.  You got to me.  I know you’ll always come …” Her voice cracked and died away.  She curled herself over him.  Burying her lips in his unkempt red mane, she kissed his crown.  Then she found didn’t have the strength to sit back up, so she stayed that way, bent over him.

 

After awhile, Hermione wasn’t even sure what she was crying about, except that she couldn’t stand seeing Ron like this.  Maybe she just needed a good cry.  She straightened up and smoothed his hair, marveling at how soft it felt.  His sobs died down, and he moved his head to lie cheek down on her lap, his hands leaving her thighs to lightly circle her waist.

 

Ron sighed and for a moment he looked peaceful and innocent.  There was no sign of embarrassment over his tears.  Hermione lightly traced the lines of his face, his eyelids, hairline.  Looking closer she took the deep bags under his eyes.  “How long has it been since you slept?”

 

Ron smiled wryly.  “How long has it been since we left the hospital wing at Hogwarts?”

 

She let out a long slow breath.  “Oh, Ron, why didn’t you say anything?  We’ve exchanged dozens of owls.”

     

All she got for an answer was a shrug.  Hermione could have kicked herself.  She should have known.  She should have _asked_.  She should have _insisted_ that her parents allow her to go to the Burrow.  “Can you tell me about the nightmares?”

 

He shrugged again, rubbing his face against the cotton of her shorts, the way Crookshanks did when he wanted attention.  For a moment, Ron looked like the little boy on the train again.

 

“Are they always about me?”  Hermione asked in a small voice.  Ron squeezed his eyes tight and nodded.  She swallowed, impulsively asking, “Do you want to stay tonight?”  She held her breath and waited for the answer.  She couldn’t believe she had actually offered.

 

Ron finally lifted his head and really met her gaze.  Heavens, she loved his eyes.  She could stare at them forever.  “Really?” he asked in a small, hopeful voice, searching her face.  Hermione smiled shyly and nodded.

 

“But what about my mum?”

 

She took a deep breath, “No one knows you’re here, then?”  It was dangerous of him to come alone.

 

Ron shook his head.  Hermione considered him carefully.  “Ron, when you came over …” She bit her lip, feeling cowardly.  “How did you get here?”

 

“Floo.”

 

“What exactly were you going to—?”

 

“I was planning on slipping in here, seeing that you were all right and then Flooing home, no one the wiser.”  He smiled his heart-stopping, lopsided smile, the one with just a touch of self-reproach.

 

“Not even me?”

 

His smile turned guilty.  “That was the _original_ plan.”

 

But instead there had been a kiss.  Had Ron kissed her or had she kissed him?  Where _had_ the dream ended and the reality began?  Did Hermione just take him off guard?  Had he really _wanted_ to kiss her?  How were they going on as if something monumental to their friendship _hadn’t_ occurred?

 

Hermione wanted to talk to him, to find out what happened … but looking at his sad, weary face she just couldn’t.  “Stay.  We can get you back to the Burrow in the morning before anyone knows you’re gone.”  Hermione couldn’t resist stroking his face.

 

Ron leaned into her touch, closing his eyes again.  He nodded.  Hermione took his hand and pulled him up and onto the narrow bed, gently guiding him so that his back was against the wall, under the window.  She stretched out next to him.  She tried not to think about the possible ramifications of inviting Ron into her bed.

 

“How will we wake up?”  Ron asked sleepily, though he had already snuggled in and his eyes had closed.

 

“I’ll set the alarm clock.”  Hermione reached over to do just that.  It was difficult, as Ron wouldn’t release her right hand.

 

“What’s an alarm clock?”

 

Hermione smiled as she finished.  “It’s …”  She turned back over to see Ron had already drifted off into sleep.  She laid her head down next to his on the shared pillow.

 

The enormity of the situation hit Hermione.  The kiss, Ron, a boy in her bed.  Normally, all those things had a clear meaning.  Romance.  Relationship.  Boys and girls, fancying one another.  But their lives were anything but normal, and it was so very complicated.  

 

It took Hermione a long time to fall back asleep that night.

  
  
  


                                                            * * * * *

  
  


When Fred Weasley Apparated into the kitchen of his childhood home it was well after midnight.  He hadn’t planned on sleeping at the Burrow that night.  However, after the traumatic experience of Apparating into his flat from a thoroughly enjoyable date, only to find his twin and said twin’s girlfriend sprawled out starkers on the kitchen table … Fred really needed a little distance.

 

There was something about seeing one’s twin in a sexual situation that went way beyond the ordinary familial heebie-jeebies.  It seems, when the image of one’s twin shagging his girl pops into one’s head it is disturbingly similar to having a fantasy about shagging one’s brother’s bird.  

 

Fred grimaced, trying to shake off the image.  If Angelina wasn’t still living at home, he’d have Apparated there to try and shag the image out of his head.  That girl _really_ needed a place of her own.

 

He started to rummage through his mother’s cabinets.  That was the advantage of home, full cupboards.  He helped himself to a Butterbeer and performed a cooling spell on it.  He drained it quickly and binned the bottle.  Finding a platter of fresh biscuits, he grabbed a handful.

 

Now that he and George had moved out, there was always a plate of fresh biscuits.  Ickle Ronnikins and Ginny-baby were clearly too coddled for their own good.  Just because they nearly died every year around finals time didn’t mean they should get special treatment.  Just the opposite, they could use some toughening.

 

As Fred started up the stairs, he thought about how a nice prank on his baby brother could really brighten his night and take his mind off less pleasant thoughts.

 

Should he go with something classic and simple, maybe perform some beauty charms on his nails and face?  Bubblegum pink always _was_ Ronny’s best color.  The spider angle was always enjoyable, as well, when it came to his youngest brother.  Though the real money was on a prank that somehow involved Hermione Granger.

 

Ron and Hermione’s little dash for privacy across the train station didn’t go unnoticed by Fred and his twin.  They had stored away the knowledge.  It was a highly valuable commodity that could be used for so many things, not just pranks.  Blackmail, for instance, was highly undervalued.

 

But maybe something simple now.  Perhaps, a voice modifying charm to make Fred’s voice sound like Hermione.  Maybe try to get baby brother to talk in his sleep.  Give him some more ammunition.  Fred rubbed his hands together in anticipation.  The night was looking up.

 

As he neared the third landing, Fred noticed a rustling noise coming from Ginny’s room.  When he reached her door he noticed it was opened and that there was definite movement inside.  What was she up to in there?  Grinning wickedly, he pulled out his wand and quietly pushed open the door.  

 

Nothing could have prepared him for what he saw.  Ginny was unconscious, suspended in mid-air by what was probably a Mobilicorpus Charm.  Her things were a shambles.  Leaning over her trunk, going through her things, was a dark hooded figure.

 

Instinctively, Fred raised his wand, “ _Expelliarmus_.”  

 

The figure was thrown across the room with a loud crash.  Fred saw the swish of a brandished wand and ducked, missing the Stupefying spell that was thrown back at him.  Straightening, he prepared to throw another spell, but it was too late, the Death Eater had grabbed a handful of papers and Disappeared.

 

Footsteps pounded up the stairs and Fred spun, wand pointed at the entrance to the room.  He breathed a sigh of relief to see his parents appear, wands at the ready.

 

“Ginny!” Arthur rushed to his daughter, lifting her and carrying her to her bed.

 

“Fred!” his mother said with her best admonishing voice.  “ _What_ did you do?”

 

Her son rolled his eyes as his arm fell.  “You’re kidding, right?  You’re not seriously trying to blame _me_ for this?”  His mother’s expression didn’t change.  “There was a _Death Eater_.  He just Disapparated!”

 

A look of terror came over Molly Weasley’s face.  “Fred Weasley, if this is some kind of joke—”

 

“Mum!” he bit out angrily.  “I would not joke about _that_ and I would not _stupefy_ Ginny!”

 

“Molly, calm down.  We’ll figure this out.”  Their father said softly as he carefully laid his youngest on her bed.  “ _Enervate_.”

 

Ginny gasped, waking.  Fred felt himself go limp with relief.

 

“Where’s Ron?”  Molly asked, desperately.

 

Fear rose again, Fred could only shake his head and shrug at his mother’s expectant expression.  Why did she think he’d know anyway?  He didn’t even live here anymore.  She should be thanking him.  If it hadn’t been for Fred, Ginny …

 

“Do you know where your brother is?”  Molly demanded again, making Fred jump.

 

“No!” he yelled back, feeling helpless as his mother turned and ran out the door.  Her footsteps sounded on the stairs above them.

 

“Molly, wait!”  Arthur called, shaking his head.  “Sometimes, she has no sense.  Fred go with her.  There could be more.”  He turned to his daughter, smoothing her hair.  “Ginny, dear, are you all right?”

 

She looked dazed and confused.  She nodded absently.  Fred blinked at her, frozen.  She could have been taken.  She could have been killed.  

 

“Fred!  Your Mother!”

 

Fred’s eyes jerked up, but still, his body felt like lead.  He nodded slowly and started for the door.  He was having trouble taking his eyes of his sister.

 

It took a piercing scream to set Fred into motion.  God, Mum.  Ron!  He ran up the stairs, two at a time.  His heart beating erratically, he stumbled into the room at the top of the stairs.

 

Ron’s room was a shambles, much worse than Ginny’s.  Mrs. Weasley was on her knees sobbing.  Fear was threatening to overwhelm him and Fred turned his body in desperate circles, trying to find … he didn’t know.

 

Not knowing what to do, Fred knelt next to his mother and embraced her.  He looked up to see his father stumble in, wide-eyed.  Father's and son’s eyes met in silent understanding and dread as the situation began to sink in.

 

The Death Eaters had Ron.

  
  


                                                            * * * * *

  
  



	12. Caught

Ginny felt as if she were underwater, perceiving events through a heavy, invisible barrier.  Sitting in a kitchen chair at the Burrow, with her knees to her chest and her feet on the seat of the chair, Ginny wondered if this was what people meant by “in shock.”  She pulled the quilt around her shoulders so it completely cloaked her small frame.  If she curled up tight enough would she just disappear?  Could anyone really see her anyway?  

 

The first golden rays of dawn were beginning to filter in.  Several hours had passed since her father had revived her and Ginny had been led to the kitchen where she watched as various members of the Order Apparated and Disapparated, trying to figure out what had happened, trying to do damage control, trying to find Ron.  

 

Ron.  It just didn’t seem possible that he wasn’t there.  He could be with Voldemort at that very moment, unconscious, hurt … being tortured.  It just wasn’t real.  It couldn’t be.

 

Her eyes were drawn to their grandfather clock for what must have been the hundredth time.  Ginny took comfort in the fact that Ron’s hand had remained merely on “lost” and hadn’t progressed to “mortal peril.”  Though, that alone was disconcerting.  What did that mean, “ _lost_?”  What did it take to be in “mortal peril?”  If not being kidnapped by Death Eaters, then what?  What the hell was that bloody clock thinking?

 

Mrs. Weasley was bustling about the kitchen at a dizzying pace.  Every few minutes she would slam something down, occasionally breaking something.  Alicia, George’s girlfriend, followed behind her at a careful distance, quietly cleaning up the messes.  No one had said anything when she showed up with George in the middle of the night after the Order’s distress call was sent out.

 

George was standing with his father, discussing rumors about the whereabouts of Voldemort and various Death Eaters, bent over a map that Kingsley had brought before Apparating back to the Ministry to dig for more information.  

 

“Ginny?  Would you like something to drink?”  Alicia asked kindly.  

 

Ginny shook her head at a strangely slow pace, not looking up.  Drinking would take far too much effort.

 

 _Crack._ Tonks appeared in the middle of the kitchen sporting ear-length hair in an interesting greenish blue color.  Ginny had the vague thought that it looked good on the young Auror even as it occurred to her how frighteningly easy it was to Apparate and Disapparate from the Burrow.  They were _never_ safe here.  Why had they been holed away here all summer if it wasn’t even safe?

 

Tonks threw herself into a chair, narrowly missing knocking over a pitcher of juice before Alicia could hastily pull it out of the way.  Slouching in the chair, Tonks announced, “Well, Harry’s still safe with the Dursleys'.  Moody’s standing guard there until we get word from Dumbledore regarding whether we’re going to yank him to headquarters or not.”

 

Harry.  With extraordinary effort Ginny turned her head towards Tonks and spoke the first words she had uttered in hours: “How was he?”

 

Tonks looked confused, “Who?”

 

Who did she think?  This was not the time to act daft.  Every word Ginny said stole precious energy.  “Harry,” she managed in a flat, emotionless tone.

 

“He was the same,” Tonks responded as if this was the first time she had thought about Harry’s emotional well-being.  Well, that’s _all_ Ginny thought about.

 

“How did he take the news about Ron?” she probed further, her voice sounding hoarse to her own ears.  Must be from the hours of not talking.  Ginny swallowed and licked her overly dry lips.  

 

Tonks’ eyes narrowed, as she seemed to think over Ginny’s question.  Why was it so difficult to answer?  “He raged.”  “He yelled.”  “He threw something.”  There weren’t an overly large number of reactions in Harry’s repertoire.  

 

“He, uh …” Tonks scratched her head and shared a look with Mr. Weasley.  “He took it surprisingly well.”

 

Ginny shook her head, confused.  “What do you mean, _well_?”  She was proud that her voice was a bit stronger this time.  

 

“Actually, he didn’t react much at all.”  Tonks swallowed, her face becoming increasingly tense.  “He _did_ seem a tad anxious.”

 

A new fear began to break through the fog.  Tiny tentacles reaching inside Ginny, making her breathing accelerate bit by bit.  “He wasn’t angry?”  The Harry she knew would have torn the place apart.  He would have demanded he be allowed to come to the Burrow at once.  Tonks shook her head and was about to say more—

 

 _Crack.  Crack._ Fred and Remus Lupin appeared, their drawn and horrified expressions diverting all attention to them.  Without preamble, Remus announced rigidly, “Hermione and her parents are gone.”

 

Ginny found she was suddenly having a hard time breathing.  What did they say?  Hermione?  She didn’t understand.  It was so hard to think, but wasn’t there something … Ginny knew something important about Hermione.  A loud crash cut through Ginny’s haze and her eyes jerked to the smashed platter at her mother’s feet.  No one moved to clean it.

 

“The house was in shambles,” Fred said, pale and uncharacteristically serious.  Anything horrible enough to put _that_ expression on one of the twins’ faces was … but there was something else.  Something that wasn’t connecting.  Ginny knew something important.  

 

  1.   Yeah.  “You went to Torquay?” Ginny asked in a small voice.  



 

The group turned to her in confusion.  Fred looked at his twin, then back at Ginny with an expression indicating that he believed she may have endured brain damage.  “Why would we go to Torquay?”

  

Ginny felt a rush of relief, which came out as a hysterical giggle.  “You went to her house?”  They nodded and she smiled.  Hermione was fine.  They were looking in the wrong place.  That was good.  Ron would need her here when he got back.  He’d be in a right state if … oh, God.

 

“Ginny, love, maybe we should bring you back to bed,” her father said in a concerned voice, approaching her.

 

She heard Tonks whisper to Remus, “She’s in shock.  Maybe we should—”

 

“You don’t understand,” Ginny said more forcefully, shrugging away from her father as he tried to wrap an arm around her shoulders.  “Hermione’s on vacation at Torquay.  She’s been there for a week.  She’s _not_ at home.”

 

Instantly, every person’s expression changed.  Suddenly, they were looking at her seriously.  Not as some baby to coddle, but as someone with valuable information.  Remus approached her, smiling a bit in relief, before fixing her with his piercing gaze. “Ginny, do you know where they are in Torquay?”

 

Ginny stared at him for a moment.  She was still a bit slow on the uptake, it seemed.  Then she slowly nodded.  “Yeah … yeah, I do.  It’s in her letter.”  Her eyes traveled over the surface of the kitchen table.  “I left it out … it was right there last night.  Where did it …?”  Feeling a rush of energy, she sprung from the chair and ran her hand over the table in a frantic manner.  “It was _right_ here.”  Oh God.  Oh God.  She knew she left it here.

 

Maybe she moved it and didn’t remember, maybe … reminiscent of her mother’s movements moments before, Ginny flittered frantically around the room at an escalating pace, opening and closing drawers, her hand flying over the counter tops.  Throwing an angry glance at her mother she demanded, “Did you move it?  Did you clean and bin it?”  

 

Molly shook her head, her eyes wide and despondent.  “I wouldn’t bin one of your letters.  I—”

 

“It was _here_ ,” Ginny cried.  If it wasn’t here, someone must have taken it, but who …?  Oh God.  “ _They_ must have taken it,” she whispered to herself, feeling the tears finally come.  The relief she had felt upon realizing Remus and Fred had gone to the wrong place was turning back into terror.  “They must have taken it.”

 

One of her brothers came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her.  It was just in time as her knees buckled and she couldn’t catch herself.  She would have fallen if it hadn’t been for … George, she thought.  Not that it really mattered which brother it was.  It wasn’t Ron.  Ginny buried her face in her hands, a sob tearing from her throat.  

 

“Shhh,” George soothed, pulling her into a chair.  It wasn’t all together comforting.  Seeing the twin so serious and mature merely emphasized the grave nature of the situation.  It was terrifying really.  Ginny couldn’t handle this.  This wasn’t really her life.  Ron wasn’t gone.  Death Eaters couldn’t have found Hermione.  This was just _not_ happening.

 

“Ginny.”  Her eyes snapped up at the insistent command to see Remus kneeling in from of her.  “Are you sure it was here?”

 

“Yes,” she replied heatedly.  Weren’t they listening?   _Shite_.

 

“All right.”  Remus nodded, looking around meaningfully at the other adults in the room, communicating silently.  They could say it out loud.  Ginny knew what this meant.  She wasn’t stupid.  “Do you remember anything about the cottage?”  he asked, once he turned back to her.

 

Ginny licked her lips, tasting tears.  She hated the taste of tears.  “Uh ... yeah.”  She had to pull herself together.  They needed her to remember.  Hermione needed her to.  And Ron.

 

“Hermione is staying at this cottage some old witch owned like 200 years ago.  She went on and on about the history, and oh God, the architecture ...” Ginny felt like she was going to hyperventilate.  “The letter will lead them right to her.”

 

Lupin grabbed her shoulders tightly, almost as if he could physically keep her from falling apart.  It wasn’t going to work.  Wasn’t that obvious?  “Do you remember the witch’s name?”

 

Name?  She did.  She knew the name.  Crap, what was it?  Something really daft.  Ginny nodded, biting her lip.  “Butter-something … Buttercup … Butterfield …”

 

“Butterflower,” Tonks said with self-assurance, standing, and clutching her wand purposefully.  “I know just where it is.  We spent plenty of summers in Torquay.  I can Apparate there.”

 

“You can’t go alone,” Remus told her, pulling himself up so he stood over her.

 

The gesture of paternalism didn’t seem to register with Tonks, who merely shook her fluorescent head.  “You can’t Apparate there unless you’ve been.  It would take too long to—” 

 

“Angelina and I spent time at Torquay earlier this summer.  I can at least Apparate to the beach,” Fred offered, looking restless and tense, eager jump into the fray.  He really wasn’t very bright.

 

Remus looked to Arthur, who took a deep breath and reluctantly nodded.  “Go then,” Lupin said in clipped tone.

 

 _Crack.  Crack._ They were gone.  Just like that.  Oh God, Ginny hoped they’d find her in time.  And no Death Eaters.  Please, no Death Eaters.  The family couldn’t handle another brother missing.  And where were Bill and Charlie?  Mum sent owls.  Why were they always away when trouble struck?

 

“Remus,” Molly called stiffly, her arms crossed and her posture rigid.  “We need to get Ginny and Harry to Headquarters.  They aren’t safe.”

 

Ginny almost laughed.  Of course, they weren’t safe.   _No one_ was safe.  Why was _she_ so special to get extra protection?  They were treating her like a ceramic doll.  Fragile.  Maybe she was.  She angrily brushed the tears from her cheeks.  She didn’t want to be fragile.  She _refused_ to be.  “I’m fine,” she called irritably.

 

She was ignored, as usual.  Lupin just nodded and walked to the fireplace.  “Let me talk to Dumbledore,” he said as he ducked his head into the cavity.

 

“What can I do?”  George asked, coming around from behind her, staring at the maps again with frustration apparent on his face.

 

“You can help your sister pack her and Ron’s things,” Molly said firmly.  “He’s going to need …” she drifted off with a catch in her voice, a hand to her chest.  Her eyes closed and she took several deep breaths.  Still, when she continued, her voice was thick with tears.  “We have to bring their trunks to Grimmauld Place.  Excuse me.  I’m going to pack.”  She fled the room before the sobs could take her over.  

 

Ginny’s eyes followed her, her own lip trembling.  The sound of George’s fist hitting the table jolted her and snapped her attention back to him.  “I want to look for Ron, not sit here like some great poof.”

 

Arthur put a firm hand on his son’s shoulder.  “We don’t know where to look, son.”  When he turned away he had a dejected look on his face.  “I’m going to the Ministry to see if Kingsley found anything.”

 

Mr. Weasley Disapparated just as Remus emerged from the fireplace, rubbing the ashes off his cheeks, only succeeding in smearing them.  “Dumbledore agrees.  Ginny, you and your mother will Floo over with the trunks.  The rest should Apparate.  I’m going to get Harry with Alastor.”  He gave Ginny a reassuring smile and said firmly, “All four of you will be back at Grimmauld Place before you know it.”        

           

 _Crack._ Remus Disapparated and with him any hope of his feeble reassurances sinking in.  Why was this happening, again?

 

George turned to Alicia and whispered, “Stay here with Mum and Ginny.  I’ll meet you at Headquarters.”

 

“Where are you going?” Ginny demanded.  Why was she the only one stuck here?  She wanted to look, as well.   _She_ wanted to go get Harry.

 

George smiled bitterly.  “Thought I might rough up my big brother, Percy the Ponce, and see if I can get any information out of him.  If not, at least I’ll know I did my good deed for the day.”

 

“George, no—” Alicia exclaimed.   _Crack._

 

Ginny rolled her eyes.  Fat lot of good going to the Ministry would do.  Percy couldn’t see his own hand in front of his face.  He wouldn’t recognize useful information if he had it.  At least, George would get a chance to blow off some steam.  It must be killing him that Fred went without him.  If there was a twin left behind, it was almost always George.  No one thought it bothered him, but Ginny knew it did.

 

Left alone, Alicia ran a hand over Ginny’s hair.  Why was everyone always stroking her as if she was a toddler … or a dog?  “Want me to help you pack?” George’s girlfriend asked softly.

 

Yes, please, she couldn’t possibly fold her clothes on her own.  Feeling suddenly suffocated, Ginny stood up quickly, saying hastily, “No … but can you straighten up the kitchen a bit?  Mum could never leave it like this.”  

 

Ginny didn’t wait for a response.  She started up the steps, desperate to be free of that oppressive room and that menacing clock watching over them.

 

She ran up the stairs, coming to an abrupt halt on her landing, when the image of a Death Eater descending the stairs assaulted her and knocked the wind from her.  Taking deep breaths and gritting her teeth, Ginny forced herself to continue up the stairs until she reached Ron’s bedroom.

 

A gasp tore from her throat as she saw the destruction for the first time.  Pillows were ripped open, as was the mattress.  Books and papers were torn and strewn everywhere.  The contents of Ron’s trunk and drawers had been emptied in the middle of the floor.  If they had treated her brother as roughly …

 

She collapsed onto the side of his bed.  Through the tears, Ginny noticed a picture face-downward on Ron’s nightstand and picked it up.  It was a picture of Hermione caught unawares at Hogwarts this spring.  Her brother’s best friend was staring out at the lake, brushing hair out of her face.  A corner was torn off.  Ginny wondered if it was the result of Death Eaters or Ron’s own carelessness.

 

Clutching what was left of a pillow to her mouth to stifle a sob, Ginny fell over onto the bed.  She just hoped, wherever Ron and Hermione were, that they were together.

  
  
  
  
* * * * *

 

  


Ron woke up feeling more refreshed and happy than he had in months.  Mmm.  Fuzzy warmth.  He’d forgotten what it felt like to be well rested.  It was fantastic.  It felt like … shooting pain in his right arm.

 

He blinked open his eyes as he started to feel that his arm was in danger of falling … shite!  His breath caught as his eyes focused on the culprit, that being one Hermione Granger, fast asleep on his bicep.  Whoa!

 

Ron was instantly, fully awake.  A rush of nervous excitement filled him.  He was in bed with Hermione.  Crap, what …?  Oh no, this wasn’t good.  Things were moving … it was out of control … what was he going …?  Wow, she was pretty.  

 

Ron pushed aside his apprehensive, depressive thoughts.  He was going to enjoy this, damn it.  When did a bloke get a chance like this?  If he squandered it, he was as thick as everyone accused him of being.  There was a beautiful girl in bed with him for God’s sake.  

 

Hermione was lying on her back with her head turned toward him.  Ron could feel the wetness of her lips against the skin of his upper arm, warm and slightly slimy.  He found it ridiculously arousing.  What was wrong with him?  It must be the way her right side was pressed snuggly against his, and the way he could just feel the swell of her breast against his t-shirt clad chest.  It addled the mind.

 

But then again, who cared, really?  It was worth every lost thought.  Ron would gladly go insane to keep doing this, to keep looking at her.  He might not ever get this opportunity again.  His eyes traveled to where his other arm lay curled over her waist, keeping her pressed tightly against him.  Damn, that was skin under his hand.

 

Oh God, he was touching Hermione Granger’s bare skin.  Not hand or face skin, but skin usually hidden from the light of day.  Skin, right where her waist dipped, where her pajama top had ridden up, just above her shorts.  Wow!  Just, really wow!

           

His morning condition became impossibly uncomfortable.  What if Hermione woke up to find Ron _fondling_ her, leaning over her like a barracuda, with a huge erection looming over her?  No, not huge.  He wasn’t … he didn’t mean that he was overly large or anything.  He held his own, but …

 

Shite.  Ron tried to shift his pelvis away from her to hide the evidence of his teenage lack of control, but it was really difficult since he refused to move either of his hands and lose any other contact.  In the end, he shifted back a bit and bent his leg so that it wasn’t _too_ obvious.

 

It worked fantasticly, he thought sarcastically.  He was so subtle that she started to stir immediately.  Ron, smooth as always.  Hermione yawned and brushed her face with her fist like kitten.  She was so bloody beautiful.  Ok, maybe it was ok if she woke up.

 

Ron wanted to kiss her again so badly that it hurt.  Bloody hell, did it hurt.  Maybe if he kept kissing her while she was half asleep he could keep getting away with it … if he _had_ got away with it, that is.  Just because she hadn’t given him what for last night, didn’t mean that she wouldn’t.  Hermione was much too good to berate him while he was being as pathetic as he had been last night.

 

Maybe, he didn’t want her to wake up, after all.  Shite, what if the kiss had changed things between them and they couldn’t go back?  What if they did go back and Ron never got to kiss her again?  He had to.  He had to kiss her again or he’d die.

           

Ron really was a selfish bastard.  A really _melodramatic_ , selfish bastard.  He knew Hermione deserved someone better than him, knew that anything he was now contemplating doing to her would ultimately lead to her leaving him forever when someone more _worthy_ came along.  But this knowledge seemed to matter less and less with every day that passed.  

 

Maybe Ron would get lucky and Voldemort would kill him before Hermione could leave him.

           

“Mmm.”  She stretched and blinked her eyes as she slowly came back to consciousness.  The stretch made her shirt pull tightly across her breasts and chased all the dark thoughts from Ron’s mind.  Hermione’s breasts were … fantastic.

 

Ron had to force his eyes to her face and found her liquid brown eyes blinking sleepily at him.  For a moment he was gripped with fear.  Was she angry?  Would she chuck him out of bed?  Rail at him?

 

A shy smile spread across her face and she murmured, her voice husky, “Morning.”  

 

Well, she didn’t _seem_ upset.  Ron found himself grinning back almost giddily.  “Morning, yourself.”  

 

Hermione stretched again and as she moved, Ron couldn’t help but wince at the icy, sharp pains that shot down his numbed arm where she lay on it.  

 

Immediately, Hermione came up onto her elbows.  “Oh Ron, did I sleep on your arm all night long?”  Ron shrugged, unable to speak because she was reaching for his arm.  “It must hurt something awful.”  Then she was kneading the muscle and there was one part of him that hurt all right.

 

“No,” Ron managed through a suddenly thick throat.  Just don’t stop.  She had the most talented hands.  How would they feel on … _other_ parts?  Hermione glanced up at him and he knew he was going to kiss her, awake or not—

 

A loud pounding on the front door echoed through the quiet of the morning and through the open window over Hermione’s bed, causing them both to start.  Ron felt his heart rate and breathing speed up in a very different way.  A decidedly less _fun_ way.

 

Hermione clutched his arm painfully.  What were they so scared of?  It was just the front door.  They were acting guilty as sin.  Well, they _were_ guilty.  Ron turned and looked out the window, down at the front stoop … shite.  Shite.  Shite.  “Fuck!”

 

“Ron!”  Hermione exclaimed in a horrified voice.  

 

He turned and frowned at her.  Swearing was the least of their problems.  “Fred and Tonks are at the front door.”

 

Hermione’s eyes became impossibly wide.  “Shite!”  She pushed past him to look out the window.

 

Ron laughed with glee.  “Hermione!  I never!”  He had never heard her use that word.  Damn, it sounded sexy.

 

“Ron.  This is _not_ the time,” she hissed, biting her lip.  Hermione was flustered and breathing hard, her chest heaving.  How was a bloke supposed to be serious with a distraction like that?

 

“What are we going to do?”  Hermione whispered.  

 

He frowned, miserably.  It looked like his time was up.  “I’ve got to get out of here.”

 

“Well, obviously,” Hermione harrumphed.  She scrambled out of bed, grabbing his arm and pulling him behind her.  At the door, she careful opened it a sliver and peered out cautiously before gesturing for him to follow her, which was simply batty considering the grip she had on his arm.

 

She dragged him down the stairs and into the kitchen.  “Hurry,” Hermione urged anxiously, pushing him into the fireplace.

 

Ron obediently put one foot into the fireplace before he came to himself and paused, looking back at her.  This was going too fast.  He was leaving too fast.

 

“Wait.”  He grabbed Hermione’s shoulder.  “When am I going to see you again?”  He had a sudden sinking feeling, as if it might be never.

 

“Ron!”  Hermione reprimanded, pushing at his chest.  “We don’t have time!”

 

“Come to the Burrow this afternoon,” he entreated, ignoring her protests.  This was important.  He _needed_ her.

 

This made Hermione pause and look up at him.  She shook her head despondently.  “I can’t Ron.  No Floo Powder.”

 

What?  “No Floo powder?”  What the hell did she mean no Floo powder?  “Hermione,” Ron whispered.  “How am I going to get home?”

 

“You don’t have any?” she squeaked.

 

“People don’t bring Floo Powder with them,” Ron defended, in an increasingly high-pitched voice.  Fuck, how _was_ he going to get home?  His mother was going to _kill_ him.

 

The kitchen door opened.  “Hermione’s room is just up there.  I’ll just go and—oh!”  Mrs. Granger stepped into the room and came to a dead stop, her eyes wide, her hand flying to her mouth.  Tonks ran into her, causing them both to stumble.

 

Ron looked over at Hermione, who looked as though she might hyperventilate.  What a picture they must make.  Him with one foot in the fireplace, _bare_ feet.  Both of his hands on Hermione’s shoulders.  Her hands on his chest.  They were _so_ dead.

 

 “What’s going on—?”  Fred pushed his way around Tonks, who was helping to right Mrs. Granger, his wand at the ready.  He froze when he saw the … interesting tableau.  “Bloody hell!”  

 

Fred approached his younger brother with long quick strides.  Ron hastily stepped out of the fireplace and away from Hermione.  He had expected jokes and ridicule, not aggression!  What the hell was wrong with his brother!

 

Ron’s shock increased tenfold when instead of pummeling him, Fred clasped him in a tight hug.  Ron stood ramrod still and looked at Hermione with wide-eyed confusion.  Had Fred gone around the twist?  He couldn’t remember this particular older brother _voluntarily_ hugging him, _ever_.  Maybe it was a trick.  An elaborate joke, maybe?

 

Fred pulled back.  “You bloody little idiot.”  Then he pulled back his arm and let go a full-on punch to Ron’s shoulder.

 

“Ow,” Ron yelled, grabbing his injured arm.  “What the hell?”  Fred had _clearly_ gone barking.

 

“Get off of him.  What do you think you’re doing?”  Hermione was trying to pull Fred off of Ron and squeeze between them.  “What’s wrong with you?”

 

“Hermione don’t!”  Ron grabbed her waist with his good arm and attempted to pull her behind him.  If Fred had gone nutters, the last thing he needed was him swinging at Hermione.  He didn’t fancy being forced to commit fratricide.

 

Fred laughed uproariously, looking over to Tonks who had a relieved and amused look on her face.  She broke into hilarity as well, nearly doubling over with it.  Hermione looked as though she was ready to spit fire and Ron had to use both arms to keep her from jumping on his brother.  And they said _he_ had a temper.

 

“Relax, poppet.  I’m not going to pummel your boyfriend,” Fred teased, further inciting her.  “Though, I wouldn’t miss what Mum’s going to do to him.  Should be quite a show.  Do you have any idea what she and Ginny have been going through?”  He became serious again and decided to give Ron a hard shove for emphasis.

 

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Hermione protested, even as she attempted to shove Fred back for pushing his brother.  Ron tightened his grip on her waist.  To hold her back, of course.  He was _not_ getting a perverted thrill from this.

 

Fred gave a barking laugh.  “Very convincing, Hermione.  Did you notice he’s currently feeling you up?”  Ron dropped his arms from her waist as if they had been burned, scowling at Fred’s smirking face.  “While you two were having your little lover’s _rendezvous_ , the whole Order has been out looking for you.”

 

“It was _not_ a lover’s rendezvous,” Hermione insisted, red-faced.  She stamped her foot in emphasis.  She was so sexy when she was belligerent.

 

“Ron just pop over for a little game of midnight chess, then?”  Fred certainly seemed to be enjoying himself.

 

“No, it was just—”

 

“Just what, dear?”  All eyes turned to Mrs. Granger, who stood with her hand to her chest, as if she might faint at any moment.  Shite.  She was never going to let Hermione go to the Burrow now.

 

Think, man think.  Say anything.  “Look, Mrs.  Granger, I just …” Ron swallowed.  “I just had a bad feeling, a nightmare.  I wanted to make sure Hermione was all right.  Then she didn’t have any Floo Powder, so I was kinda stuck here.”

 

Fred sniggered, “Please, you couldn’t come up with anything more creative than _that_?  Makes me ashamed to say we’re blood.”

 

“It’s true.”  Hermione’s eyes flared at Fred.  Then she turned to her mother with a soft, pleading look.  “Mum, really.  Ron was just looking out for me.  He slept on the floor.  Honestly, Mum.  You _know_ me.  Would I do anything … inappropriate?”

 

Hermione was lying.  She was _really_ convincing, but she was lying.  To her mum.  For Ron.  They had kissed and there had been nothing _appropriate_ about it.  They had kissed, on her bed, in the middle of the night, and then they had slept the rest of the night _together_.  Touching even.  And it had been bloody _brilliant_.

 

“You _do_ believe me, Mum?”  Hermione entreated in a wonderfully innocent tone.

 

Mrs.  Granger’s delicate features softened.  “Of course, I do, sweetheart.  I know you’re trustworthy.”  She came over and placed a reassuring pat on Ron’s shoulder.  “You know how we appreciate the way Ron and Harry look out for you.”

 

Ron did his best to echo Hermione’s innocent look, even as he pondered just how gullible Mrs. Granger was.  Wow, didn’t she understand how sexy Hermione was?  How passionate?  If Ron’s mum had caught them … shite, he still had to deal with _his_ mother.

 

“Let me just go and explain things to your father, so he doesn’t misunderstand.”  Mrs. Granger smiled serenely and walked out of the room.  She wasn’t much like Hermione, was she?

 

“Bloody hell, do you have the wool over _her_ eyes?”  Fred shook his head in disgust.  “I’m going to Apparate to the Burrow and tell Mum we found them,” he said to Tonks.  “Don’t let these two out of your sight.  They’re slippery.”

 

“I think I can handle them,” Tonks drawled in an amused tone.  Once Fred had Disapparated she shook her head at them.  “You two _really_ did it this time.”

 

Ron ran a hand through his hair.  “Hermione didn’t do anything,” he said in a small voice.  He, on the other hand, had made one hell of a mess.  All because of the blasted nightmares and his own pathetic lack of control.

 

“Tonks, what’s going on?”  Hermione asked with her arms tightly crossed and her face tense.  “Something is happening isn’t it?  That’s why everyone is so upset?”  

 

Ron hadn’t thought of that.  Mum sending an Auror to fetch them was a bit of overkill.  What had Fred said about the Order?

 

Tonks crossed her arms, her expression serious.  “Maybe you two oughtta sit.”

 

Hermione just shook her head and took a step toward Ron.  “Just tell us,” he insisted, feeling himself tense.  It was better to get it over with.

 

Sighing deeply, Tonks finally said, “There’s been an attack on the Burrow.”

 

Hermione gasped and turned to Ron, one hand flying up to clutch his shirt.  He stared into her eyes, barely able to digest the information.  His voice was strangely detached when he asked, “Was anybody—?”

 

“No, everyone’s fine,” Tonks reassured, quickly.  “Fred found a Death Eater in your sister’s room and Ginny Stupefied—”

           

“What!”  Ron roared, starting to step forward, but feeling Hermione’s hands on him, he stopped.  

 

“She’s fine.  Though, you think Fred gave you the what for, mate?  Wait till Ginny gets her hands on you.  They found your room in a shambles and with you nowhere to be found—”

 

“They assumed the worst,” Hermione finished softly.  “Oh, Ron.”  She leaned into him.  He could only clutch his fists in rage and fear as it all sunk in.  Death Eaters in his room, in Ginny’s room, hurting—

 

“There’s more—” Tonks continued, grimly.

 

There was a crash behind them from … shite.  Mum.  

 

Molly did not stop to dust herself off, just grabbed her son and Hermione in a bone crushing group hug.  “You stupid, _stupid_ boy!  Whatever did you think you were doing?”

 

“Mum, I was just trying to protect Hermione,” Ron protested quickly.  Hey, it had worked with Hermione’s mum.  

 

His mother harrumphed, taking his head in her hands and pulling him down for a hard kiss on the cheek, followed by a slap on the head.  “Worried about Hermione?  Didn’t think to wake your father or me?  Or maybe leave a note, hmm?  What did you think you were going to do for her anyway, in pajamas, no wand, not even of age?  Hmm?”

 

All excellent points.  Ron just shrugged and used his best clueless, daft puppy dog look.  His only hope was that his mum thought he was just too stupid to know any better.  The truth would get him banned from Hermione for the summer.

 

“Wait, Tonks said there was more,” Hermione said anxiously, wringing her hands.

 

Tonks exchanged an anxious look with Molly.  Swallowing, she continued what she had been about to say, “We went to your house, Hermione.  First thing after the break in.  It had been rampaged, as well.  Especially your room.”

 

Ron felt as though someone had just taken a death grip on his heart.  If Hermione hadn’t been on holiday … all of a sudden, the story about him coming here to protect her didn’t sound so far fetched.

 

Hermione went pale and slumped against Ron.  He put an arm around her for support.  “Harry?”  Hermione asked.

 

“Fine.  Fine,” Molly assured, hands on hips.  “Checked this morning.  Right where he was supposed to be.  Unlike the rest of you.”  She glared at them meaningfully.  “Remus just Apparated over to bring him to Grimmauld Place.  Which is exactly where you two are going _right_ now.  So, march upstairs, young lady, and pack your things.”

 

Hermione nodded weakly and walked to the stairs.  Ron turned to follow her.

 

“Where do you think you’re going?” Molly shrieked, causing her son to jump.  “Let the girl put some clothes on first.”

 

Ron turned bright red as he watched Hermione disappear up the stairs.  He took a deep breath and told himself to look properly contrite as his mother began her berating, because all he could think about was Hermione being with him for the rest of the summer.

 

It was hard to keep a smile off his face.

  
  
  
  
* * * * *

  
  


Ginny was going to _murder_ her brother.  Worse than that, she was going to turn him into a newt and put him in a jar.  Then hide it in the potions cupboard for Snape to find and use for the eyeball-extracting lesson with the second years.  No.  That was too good for Ron.  She’d have to think of something else.

 

She paced the length of the kitchen at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, keeping a close eye on the fireplace.  Occasionally, Ginny would climb the stairs to sneak a peak at the front door to see if anyone had arrived that way.  It wasn’t really necessary since she had booby-trapped the front door so that anyone who entered would create such a clatter that Mrs. Black would immediately alert her to his or her arrival.

 

She couldn’t believe that Ron could do this to them, to _her_.  Oh, wait, she could.  It was just the sort of thing the thick-headed git would do.  Ginny even believed his daft story about being worried about Hermione.  Her brother didn’t have the stones to Floo over to his best friend’s room in the middle of the night for a snog session.

 

But he _could_ have told Ginny so that she could cover for him.  Ron knew she wouldn’t stop him from checking on Hermione.  Unless, he was embarrassed.  Unless, it really _was_ for a late night snog fest … yeah, right.  Ginny shook her head.  That was just crazy talk.  If Hermione and Ron had gone _there_ , she’d know.  They couldn’t keep _that_ from her all summer.

 

Urgh!  Where were they?  Mum had sent Hermione and Ron home with Tonks and Fred hours ago and Lupin had gone to get Harry even before that.

 

Ginny needed to see for herself that they were all right.  Maybe then this restless energy would dissipate.  And besides that, Ginny had something really important she needed to talk to Hermione about.  It seemed that the only thing that she could find missing from her room were the letters and notes detailing the Empath research the two girls had done.

 

Clank.  Crash.  “Shite!”

 

“If your mother hears you swearing—”

 

“ _How dare you!  Rubbish, Common filth.  Contaminating the noble home of my ancestors, Blood traitors, sons of refuse_ —”

 

Ginny took off up the stairs in a dead run, reaching the top to see her father pull the curtain over Mrs. Black’s portrait and George set down Hermione’s trunk.  “We should set that bloody painting on fire and see what it does,” George muttered irritably.

 

Ginny’s whole body slumped when she saw them.  “Oh, it’s just you.”

 

“Thanks a lot, little sister,” George said with mock hurt in his voice.  Then he wagged his eyebrows suggestively.  “I reckon you need to be the great Harry Potter to get any love around here.”  

 

“George, leave your sister alone.”  Arthur approached his daughter and gave her a hug.  “All right there, Ginny?”

 

She nodded in response, even though it was a lie.  Could gesturing be a lie?  Or did you actually have to say the words to be lying?

 

Ginny thought she heard George mutter, “Mollycoddling,” under his breath and ignored him.

 

Her father wasn’t so generous.  He snapped, “George, bring Hermione’s trunk upstairs.”

 

“Oh, but Father, I wouldn’t want to deprive her boyfriend of that privilege.  I’m sure he’ll want to show off his manliness.  What little of it there is—”

 

“Bloody hell, woman.  You call _that_ driving?”  Fred griped to Tonks as the door opened, and finally, _finally_ , Ron and Hermione stepped into the house.

 

Tonks rolled her eyes, waving Fred off with a flick of her wrist.  “I told you that was _not_ a squirrel.  It was merely a bump on the road.  Since when did you become a ruddy animal activist anyway?”

 

Ron and Hermione were a complete mess.  Ron still had on his too small pajamas that appeared to be covered with soot.  His feet were covered by some bizarre-looking floppy Muggle things that looked extremely uncomfortable.  Hermione was wearing a dowdy pair of overalls and her bushy hair was back in a puffy ponytail.  Her look, a blatant attempt to deny that she even _had_ a sexuality.

 

Ginny ran to the youngest of her brothers, stopping just short of a hug.  Instead, anger overcame relief and she punched him as hard as she could in his arm.  “Daft fool!”

 

“Ow, Gin, that’s the second time today,” Ron whined.

 

Satisfied, that she had properly hurt him, she threw her arms around him.  “Don’t you _ever_ do that again,” Ginny commanded into his breastbone.

 

“That’s my girl.  See that, Fred.  That’s the way it’s done.  Hit first, then hug.”

 

“So right, George.  Should have remembered.  Terribly poorly done of me.”

 

“ _Shut it_!”  Ron shot back.  Clever as always, Ginny thought, but then his arms closed around her in a gentle hug and she felt horrible for her rude thoughts.  “I’m sorry, Gin,” he whispered just for her.  “You all right?”

 

She nodded, pulling away, irritably wiping her eyes.  For someone who hated to cry, she certainly did it often enough.  She turned to Hermione and the two girls embraced affectionately.  “We need to talk,” Ginny whispered in her ear.

 

Hermione gave her a confused look and a single slight nod, before turning to Ginny’s father.  “Mr. Weasley, how did things go at my house?”

 

Arthur, who had been greeting his youngest son with possibly the longest hug he had ever given him, turned and hugged Hermione tenderly.  “Why don’t we go to the drawing room, shall we?  George, the trunk!”

 

“But Ron—”

 

“I told _you_ to do it.”

 

Amidst the grumbling, Ginny hung back, carefully resetting her booby-trap and quickly catching up with the others in the drawing room.  Ron caught sight of her and gave her an amused look, but probably felt too guilty to expose her.  She’d be milking that for a while.

 

Her father made sure everyone was seated and Hermione’s trunk was safely tucked in the room across the hall before sitting himself.  “On careful searching of your house, Hermione,” he began seriously, “your parents were not able to identify anything that was missing.”

 

Ginny bit her lip and slouched into the couch.  Would the Grangers have any idea what to look for?  

 

“Nevertheless, your room had been ransacked quite as bad as Ron’s and you’ll have to look through the things we brought you to see if anything’s absent.”  Mr.  Weasley swallowed.  “It certainly looked as if they were looking for something.  It was only the rooms that you would normally use that were touched.  Your parents’ bedroom was virtually intact.  So, we believe they were not after your parents—”

 

“They were after Hermione,” Ron stated stiffly as he moved to stand stiffly next to his best friend.  

           

Arthur nodded solemnly, watching Ron with a worried expression.  “That’s what we believe.”

 

Or something she has … like the Empath stuff.  Ginny grabbed Hermione’s knee, trying to get the girl’s attention, but Hermione seemed lost in thought.  Ron was sitting on the edge of the sofa next to her, so that her shoulder and his knee were pressed firmly together.  It was subtle, but … what exactly _had_ happened between them last night?   _Something_ had changed.  

 

“Oh, there you are.  There you are, dears,” Mrs. Weasley called, bustling in and hugging Ron and Hermione as they sat limply.  “Harry will be here shortly.  Arthur, dear.  Nymphadora.  Can I have a word with you?”  Molly smiled a deceptively bland smile.  Did she really think she was fooling anyone?

 

“What say you, twin?”  Fred said to George, crossing his arms and drawing himself up in preparation for battle.  “This seems like Order business to me.  Something two blokes like us should be involved in.”

 

Molly glared at them, but she must have been impatient because she snapped, “Fine!”  

 

George didn’t even have a chance to join the fight.  Apparently, their mother was so eager to keep information from her youngest children that she was willing to bend to the twins.  For once, that was fine with Ginny.  She had her _own_ information this time and she needed to talk to Hermione.

 

“What do you think that was about?”  Ron asked, after they were gone.  Hermione shook her head, still staring blankly.

 

“It doesn’t matter,” Ginny said dismissively.  “Hermione, they took the notes and letters.  The ones about Adrianna.”

 

Hermione showed new life, her head jerking up and her eyes flashing.  “What!  Are you sure?”

 

Ginny nodded urgently.  The older girl dashed across the hall and she followed her into their shared bedroom.  Hermione rummaged through her trunk.  After a few minutes of searching she shook her head.  “I don’t see anything here.  Your father and George may have missed some of the notes I wrote, but I already packed _The Legend and Legacy of the Empath_.  It isn’t here.”  She sat back, breathing rapidly.

 

“Your parents probably did something with it, Hermione.  What would Death Eaters want with _that_ book?  It’s not even in English,” Ron said in a tone that showed he thought they were over-reacting.  To Ginny it just proved that he was as daft as he always pretended to be.

 

Hermione looked up at him with thinly disguised anger and fear.  “Unless it wasn’t the Death Eaters at all.  Unless it was Adrianna who stole it.”

 

“Or,” Ginny continued, “Adrianna is working _with_ the Death Eaters, with Voldemort.”

 

Crash.  “ _Freaks!  Scum!  Half-breed monsters_ —”

 

“Oh, shut it!”  Moody’s voice barked.

 

“Harry!”  Ginny breathed, running for the stairs.  She could feel the butterflies filling her stomach.  At the bottom of the stairs she froze, just taking it in, forcing Ron and Hermione to push around her to get to their friend.

 

Remus set Hedwig’s cage atop Harry’s trunk as Moody led him in with a firm hand around his upper arm.  Both the old Auror and the former Professor were scowling.

 

Ginny took a shaky breath and willed herself not to cry as she looked over Harry.  He looked as if he hadn’t seen the light of day in months.  His clothes fell loosely off his body.  Thick bags were under his eyes.  Oh God, it was just as bad as she imagined it.

      

Hermione, tired of waiting for Harry to speak, it seemed, threw her arms around him.  “It’s so good to see you, Harry.  How are you?”  Harry didn’t hug her in return.  Ron held back, staring at his friend with a hurt expression.

 

“Dumbledore here yet?”  Moody demanded.

 

Ginny gulped.  Dumbledore wasn’t supposed to be here.  Why would he come _now_ when they were all finally safe at Grimmauld Place?  A sinking feeling settled in her stomach.  Something was very, very wrong.

 

“Why is Dumbledore coming?”  Hermione asked, uneasily, echoing Ginny’s thoughts and pulling back from her one-sided hug.  Her eyes darted around Harry’s face.  He still hadn’t said anything.  Why—

    

“Apparently we have a letter only he can open.”  Moody waved a letter in the air with one hand and yanked Harry back from Hermione with the other.  “I’d keep my distance if I were you, young lady.”

 

“Harry?”  Ginny whispered.  Oh God.  Oh God.  Please.

 

Remus was leaning over the trunk with a tired expression.  He closed his eyes before taking a deep breath and turning to them.  The look in his eyes did not alleviate Ginny’s fears, but nothing could have prepared her for the words that left his mouth.  

 

“That’s not Harry, Ginny.”

 

  
  


* * * * * *

 


	13. Choices

 “It’s so good to see you, Harry.  How are you?”  Hermione struggled to keep her voice light as she hugged her unresponsive friend.  She wanted to scream … or cry.  But those things wouldn’t help Harry.

 

He looked worse than she had ever seen him, and he wasn’t behaving … _well_.  It was even worse than Hermione thought it would be.  It was like this wasn’t even Harry.  Dread pounded in her ears.  She heard Moody mention Dumbledore coming here as if from a great distance.  

 

Her apprehension only increased.  If Dumbledore felt he was needed at Grimmauld Place then something really awful was happening.  Or _had_ happened.  “Why is Dumbledore coming?”  Hermione asked, deeply fearful of the answer.

           

“Apparently, we have a letter only he can open.  I’d keep my distance if I were you, young lady.”  Her eyes were drawn to the letter Moody was waving in the air, such that she didn’t notice him pull at Harry until he was yanked from her arms.

 

Hermione shook her head in denial.  None of this made any sense.  A letter from whom?  What was in it that would make would make Moody wrench Harry away from her.  Ginny called out Harry’s name.  Hermione stared at him, searching his eyes, looking for some indication of what was going on, some sign of the Harry she knew.

 

Then Lupin said the words that made her heart stop … and everything make sense.  “That’s not Harry, Ginny.”  Hermione felt her blood turn to ice water.  She looked into the eyes of the boy that stood before her and knew that Harry Potter did not lie behind those green spheres.  She stumbled back.

 

“It is true, Miss,” the Impostor said.  “I am not Harry Potter.”

 

Ice turned to fire as rage filled her.  Instead of stepping further away, she stepped closer.  “Where’s Harry?  Who are you?”  Hermione demanded.  

 

The fraud trembled, but just shook his head.  “I cannot says, Miss.  The letter for Professor Dumbledore—” 

 

Hermione grabbed his shoulders severely, her nails piercing his flesh.  She pushed him, surprising Moody with her sudden forcefulness, such that he lost his grip on Harr—whoever.  “Where is he?  Who _has_ him?  Who has _Harry_?” she yelled.

 

The impostor just shook his head, looking terrified.  What sort of man dared impersonate Harry Potter, yet remained such a … such a coward?  Hermione was going to—

 

She felt herself being roughly yanked away from him and Hermione watched, in shock, as Ron violently slammed the impostor against the wall, his forearm under the captive’s chin, pinning him several inches above the ground.  Ron’s rage brought his physical strength to new levels it seemed.

 

“Answer her!”  Ron demanded through clenched teeth.  “Who are you!”  When there was no answer he pushed harder, causing the pretender to cough.

 

Hermione touched Ron’s back, clutching a handful of his shirt.  She whispered, “Ron.”  She tried to tell him with her tone that he needed to calm down … but that she approved of what he was doing.  Desperate times.  With deadly composure, she repeated the question for the third time.  “Who are you?”

 

“It is … Dobby,” the boy said in a small voice.

 

Hermione saw as well as felt Ron become stony in his rage.  His jaw clenched and unclenched.  But he didn’t move.  He was waiting for her.  “That’s not possible,” she stated passionately.  The fraud nodded, contradicting her and inciting Ron to push, again, on his windpipe.

 

“I think that’s quite enough, Ron,” Lupin called, with quiet command.

 

“Oh, let them go, Remus.  They seem to be doing rather well to me.”

 

Seeming to taking Moody’s words as permission, Ron picked up the impostor and held him higher off the ground.  “Who has the real Harry?”  

 

Hermione was stunned, not by his forcefulness and passion, but by his strength and precision.  On the surface, he seemed to be acting blindly, but … it was too controlled.  She knew that he could have used much more force than he was.

 

The captive swallowed, but didn’t answer.  This was getting to be ridiculous.  Who would want them to think this was Dobby?  How stupid did they think they were?  Ron had the impostor seconds away from asphyxiation and he was telling bizarre stories and being elusive.

 

She had enough.  There was only one question she needed answered.  “Is it Voldemort or Adrianna?”  Hermione demanded.

 

Ron’s eyes flew to her face and then back to the impostor’s.  Clearly, he wasn’t expecting her to accuse Adrianna so blatantly, but she was vindicated when the boy finally, said in an undertone, “Adrianna Potter, Miss.”

 

Ron’s grip loosened in shock and the impostor slipped down the wall.  “How?” the redhead asked in a choked voice.

 

“Polyjuice, Mr. Weasley,” he squeaked.

 

Now this was too much.  “Polyjuice doesn’t work on elves!”  Hermione raged.  What did Adrianna think they were?  Idiots?  Hermione _knew_ how Polyjuice worked.  What was that woman trying to do?

 

“Adrianna Potter has access to great magics.  It is all in the letter,” the impostor croaked, cowering.  Hermione had to admit that his mannerisms did remind her of Dobby.  If this was the elf, it was beyond abuse, manipulating him in this way.

 

With a look of disgust Ron picked him up by the shirt, and Hermione knew he was going to throw him against the wall.  But what if … “Ron,” she whispered urgently, her hand around his bicep.  “What if it _is_ Dobby?”

 

He froze, turning his head to look her in the eye and she watched the emotions play over his face.  Anger into confusion into guilt, then finally frustration and despair, as he finally let the impostor go, allowing him to fall to the floor.  He turned away from the fallen creature and ran a hand through his hair.  Now what?  They needed to know what was in that letter.  Hermione followed Ron with her eyes and saw Ginny for the first time since the revelation.  

 

She was kneeling on the floor, looking deadly pale.  Ron exchanged glances with Hermione, gesturing with his eyes toward the stairs to the kitchen.  She understood.  They needed to get down there before Dumbledore did.  It was the only way to the letter, to get there before an Imperturbable was placed on the room, and they were shut out.  There was no way they were letting that happen.  This was _Harry_ they were talking about.  They were _not_ being shut out.

 

Ron gently urged his sister off the ground, circling her waist with his arm.  She walked to the stairs with him in a daze and Hermione followed, keeping a careful eye to the adults.  They had to move quickly.

 

Moody advanced, waving the letter angrily.  “Where do you think you’re going?”

 

Hermione turned, hands on either side of the staircase wall, blocking the way, allowing time for Ron and Ginny to clear the steps without interference.  All the while, she eyed the letter hungrily.  There were answers in there.  “We are going to talk to Professor Dumbledore.”

 

“Bloody hell, you are, Missy.”

 

He took a step closer.  Seeing her chance, Hermione threw him her most defiant look and grabbed the letter from his hand.  Turning, she ran down the stairs, into the kitchen, and behind Ron’s larger form.  Ginny sat next to them and Ron crossed his arms insolently, shielding both her and Hermione from the wrath of the adults.

 

She felt a flash of triumph, despite the horrible circumstances.  They had the letter.  They’d get their answers now.  Hermione and Ron made quite a good team, actually.

 

“What do you three think you’re doing?”  Molly Weasley demanded, in a shocked tone.  Ron shrugged at his mother, unmoving.  The stubbornness that usually made her aggravated, made Hermione feel secure.  They’d get Harry back, somehow.

 

“Hey, if he—”one of the twins began.

 

“We are here and we are _not_ leaving,” Ron ground out through clenched teeth.

 

“Then we’ll just move elsewhere,” Molly said heatedly to her son.

 

Fury coursed through Hermione like fire.  Did they think they were dealing with children?  “Not without this.”  She held up the letter, watching their opponents’ eyes flash.

 

Lupin entered the room behind Moody, leading the imposture by the arm.  “It’s no use, Molly.  Let them stay,” he said tiredly, as though there was no fight left in him.  Everyone was gone for Professor Lupin.  If Harry …

 

Stop.  Hermione was _not_ going to think the worst.  Harry _was_ coming back.  He wasn’t dead.  He wasn’t.  They _would_ find him.  Oh God.

 

Further argument was stayed by Dumbledore’s appearance in the center of the room holding an empty box of _Bertie’s Every Flavor Beans_ that he had apparently used as a Portkey.  Carefully, he perused the room, lingering on the three students, then gazing even longer at the impostor.  

 

“There is a letter?” he asked evenly, and Hermione wondered if anything could break his serenity.  If this couldn’t, what could?  

         

Briefly, she considered bargaining before handing over the letter, but Dumbledore was not someone she felt comfortable playing games with.  She’d just have to trust that he would understand what this moment meant for them and let them hear the contents.  She had to trust that he would know what’s best.

 

As she anxiously stepped forward and placed the letter in his palm, she wished she had a fragment of the Headmaster’s control.  Hermione held onto the parchment for a moment longer than necessary before she stepped back again, running into Ron.  She leaned against him slightly, needing him for the support.  She prayed the letter would contain the information they needed because, God, what would they do without Harry?

 

Dumbledore carefully opened the letter.  As if he had all the time in the world.  As if her best friend’s life wasn’t hanging in the breech.

 

“Albus, don’t you think the children—” Molly anxiously twisted her apron.

 

Dumbledore raised a hand to still her, his eyes peering at the words of the letter through his half-moon spectacles.  “No, Molly.  The letter says quite clearly that I am to read it out loud _and_ that Miss Granger, Mr. Weasley, and Miss Weasley are to be in attendance.”  

 

Hermione let out a long breath.  At least, he didn’t seem upset about them staying.  What was she thinking?  It didn’t matter who was upset.  Harry was _missing_.

 

She felt Ron grip her hand and pull it behind her back so no one could see him intertwine their fingers.  Thank God for him.  Hermione swallowed and willed her heart to a normal pace.  Why would Adrianna insist they be there?  What did she want from them?

 

Dumbledore cleared his throat.  “Let's see now, _read this part_ … yes, yes … here ...  Miss Potter writes ...” The headmaster read the letter with a light and carefree tone, as if it were merely a cheerful piece of correspondence and not life and death. 

 

 _“Harry is with me and I assure you he is quite safe.  I understand your feelings and wishes to keep Harry at the Dursleys’ this summer and why you believe it is the safest place for him.  However, I strongly disagree.  As his one surviving magical relative, he is my responsibility.  I will be the one keeping him safe from now on_.”

 

Dumbledore paused at Mrs.  Weasley’s loud gasp.  Hermione felt as though her insides would explode with the outrage and worry she was feeling.  Damn Adrianna.  Damn her to hell.

 

The Headmaster continued.  “ _I am enclosing a small draw string purse_ …” As he said this, the purse appeared in his hand.  “ _You can place a message for us in this and we will return as soon as possible._

 

 _“I am also including a letter to Ron and Hermione from Harry_ , _himself_ …” the letter appeared as well, “ _explaining his decision to come with me and not stay with the Dursleys.  Because of this_ …”

  
  


* * * * *

 

           

 

_Monday, June 24, 1996_

Harry lay on his hard narrow bed at 4 Privet Drive, staring at the ceiling.  Pretty much the same as he had been doing for the last fifty-something hours, ever since he had returned from Kings Cross.  Dudley’s horrifying music pounded in his ears and he actually was starting to enjoy the steady throbbing in his temples.

 

Only sixty-seven days, ten hours left until Harry went back to Hogwarts.  He had better make the most of his time.  After all, he had a lot to think about.  Plenty of sins to contemplate.  Lots to repent for.  After all, that _was_ the purpose of prison, wasn’t it?  

 

And that was where Harry was, prison.  Punished with solitary confinement.  The Dursleys studiously ignored him, which was a positive.  Their only contact was the food they slipped through the slit in the door.  

       

Not that Harry ever ate any of it.  He couldn’t even muster the strength to get out of bed and push the untouched food back through the opening.  The sight of it made him sick, anyway.

    

What good was food to _him_?  He was a worthless freak who no one wanted.  Not as a person anyway.  He was a weapon, less than human.  If they wanted him, he wouldn’t be stuck here.  Harry had to admit, though, his friends _were_ better off without him.  All he ever did was get people hurt or killed.  Hell, his mind was an open door to Voldemort.

 

So, as the sky grew dark, Harry came to the second thing he needed to contemplate.  How was he going to detach himself from his friends when he returned to Hogwarts?

 

It would be difficult.  Horribly difficult.  Both because of the pain it world cause him and because Harry’s friends were … _stubborn_.  But it was necessary.  It was time to let Ron and Hermione have a normal life.  Then Harry could concentrate on learning what he needed to learn for the final battle.  And hope that it killed him.

 

“Crap, Harry.”  

 

Harry froze.  Was that a voice?  Or just more of Dudley’s noise?  Why would anyone even be in his room?

       

“Please, tell me you’ve gotten out of that bed _sometime_ today.  And _what_ is this racket?”

 

Harry didn’t turn his head toward the voice, but his heart raced.  He squeezed his eyes shut.  It wasn’t real.  It was a hallucination.  Didn’t people start to hallucinate when …?

           

 “ _Imperturbis_.”  The room became blessedly silent and Harry held his breath as he finally turned his head slowly.

 

Adrianna stood in the center of the room, hands on her hips, anger and disapproval furrowing her brow.  “God damn, Harry.  It’s been four days.  I leave you alone for four days and _this_ is what becomes of you.  You’re almost sixteen.  You should be able to take care of yourself for _four_ days.  You haven’t even eaten,” she accused, kicking the full dinner tray on the floor.  “And _this_ is just gross.”

 

Harry blinked at her.  It was hard to believe she was there.  It was hard to believe she actually _existed._ Over the last few days, he’d come to think that maybe Adrianna was a product of his grief-addled imagination.  Or of his mind slowly fragmenting into insanity.

 

But Adrianna looked real enough now, standing there in his bedroom, scowling in a very real-person way.  Had she come to take him away from here?  A lump formed in his throat as hope returned, but Harry quickly pushed it aside.  He didn’t want anyone to come for him.  He belonged in this hell.

 

“What are you doing here?”  Harry demanded, trying to sound angry.  He wasn’t going to play the needy little boy role, to beg her to take him away, to save him.  He was done with those fantasies.

 

Adrianna just looked amused at his attempt, which was beyond irritating.  But trying to convince her that he wasn’t feeling needy, or anything else for that matter, was pointless.  He’d forgotten the Empathy.  Fuck.  How was he to have any defenses?  

 

“I said I was coming, didn’t I?”  Adrianna said evenly, as if stating the obvious.  But, people say a lot of things and they were all fucking liars.  And as far as Harry was concerned nothing was _obvious_.

 

Adrianna sighed, the amusement fading from her face as she looked around the room.  She came over to the bed and nudged his shoulder, telling him, “Sit up.”  There was affection in her tone, but Harry refused to be moved by it.  Even if he was doing as she told him.

 

She sat down next to him, a disapproving frown on her face as she bounced a bit on the hard bed.  Adrianna was uncomfortably close.  At least, she wasn’t touching him.  That was good.  Harry didn’t want touch, _comfort_.  He didn’t.

 

Sighing, Adrianna said, “So, this is the Dursleys’.”

 

Yeah, this was the Dursleys’.  Bitterness formed a sour taste in his mouth.  Harry gripped the edge of the bed and kept his eyes on the floor.  The silence that followed was painful.  What did she _want_?

 

“Harry, I … crap, I had no idea it was this bad.  I’m sorry.”  Harry’s eyes jerked to her face.  She looked genuine enough, even a bit guilty.  “My mother is going to completely freak when she hears about this,” Adrianna continued softly.  “She could have taken better care of you than _this_.”

 

Tears were threatening again, and Harry swallowed compulsively as he studied her.  He was bloody tired of crying.  He didn’t want to hear about things he could never have.  “What if”s did him no good.  He clenched his jaw.  “Why would your mother want me?  We’re not even blood?” he said meanly.  Why would _anyone_ want him?

 

Adrianna looked at him gravely.  “A lot of people want you, Harry, and if you looked at it logically, without the pessimism and self-pity you’d realize that.”

 

Harry scowled at her, giving her the ugliest expression he could muster.  How dare she?  Hypocrite.  Adrianna hardly presented herself as Miss Optimism.  And besides that, he _liked_ his fucking pessimism and self-pity.   _They_ never let him down and she couldn’t take that from him.

 

His cousin rolled her eyes.  “Fine, brood all you want.  But the reality is that there are a lot of people out there who care about you and are putting a lot of energy into keeping you safe.”

 

Sure they were, Harry thought bitterly.  He was their secret weapon, the only one who could defeat Voldemort.  Of course, they wanted him alive.

 

“Yeah, and how many people even know about the prophecy?”  Adrianna challenged.

 

That made him pause.  It was true.  As far as Harry knew it was only Dumbledore who knew.  He wanted to believe her, but … “I suppose,” he said stiffly.  Maybe he’d give her a _chance_ to explain herself.

 

“Oh, I appreciate that,” Adrianna said with a small ironic smile, then burst out laughing.  Harry frowned at her, fighting himself, but in the end a smile crept across his face, as well.  He had no idea what he was grinning about.  Life was still wretched.

 

After a moment, Adrianna’s smile faded a bit, and she said, “You know Dumbledore is insistent that you won’t be safe anywhere but here.”

 

Bloody wretched, just like he’d thought.  There was _nothing_ to look forward to.  Harry sighed, looking away.  He was never getting out of here.  How could he have let himself think otherwise?

 

“I, on the other hand, completely disagree,” Adrianna said softly.  Harry’s eyes jerked back to find his cousin smiling with a small wicked smile, making his chest tighten with expectation.  “Sure,” she drawled.  “I have no doubt that this is the safest place in _Great Britain_.  Blood Protection Spells are nothing to shake a stick at.  But please, there are other places in this world.”

 

Harry’s heart was beating erratically.  What was she saying?  He really couldn’t stand it if he got his hopes up only to be disappointed again.  But if there was even a chance of getting out of there … “Like where?” he asked carefully.

 

“Well, I was thinking Japan.  There is a small school, for lack of a better word, where I learned to get my powers under control.  I can’t think of a safer place.  You have to be invited to even find it.”  

 

“Like Hogwarts?”  Harry asked with a swallow.

 

“Not really.  It’s not a formal school.  It’s smaller and much safer.  They only work on … _specialized_ projects.”  Adrianna smiled almost playfully, almost as though she was daring him to go along with it.  Harry gnawed on the inside of his cheek.   _Anywhere_ was better than here.  “I’ve talked to my sensei.  He’s agreed to teach you Occlumency,” she added in a wheedling tone.

 

Harry frowned at her.  Now, _that_ sounded like fun.

 

“No need for sarcasm.  Look, I promise that this will be much more pleasant than your previous experience with Occlumency.  You’ll come out feeling … strong.”

 

If he knew Occlumency, his friends wouldn’t be in such danger.  Maybe if he mastered that skill he wouldn’t need to give them up and if …“Will you be there?”  Harry asked before he thought.  Shite, that was too vulnerable.  He should—

 

“Of course, I’ll be there.  I’ll be helping to train you,” Adrianna said, again as if it were obvious.  Were there that many certainties in her world?  

 

Harry tried not to smile, but failed.   _Japan_.  It sounded exotic and exciting and so … God damned far from here.  “When do we leave?” he asked eagerly.

      

Adrianna sighed and bit her lip, making her look strangely young and vulnerable.  “Harry, as I said, Dumbledore is _very_ insistent that you stay—”

     

“So convince him,” Harry burst out.  He didn’t like where that statement was going.  She kept going back and forth.  Adrianna couldn’t come here and tell him about Japan and not take him.  It just wasn’t fair.

    

She shook her head.  “I tried.”

    

What the fuck!  Why would she even come?  This was just cruel.  “Fine, then.”  Harry was _not_ going to cry, but he might just start breaking things again.  Yes, that sounded—

     

“So, if you want to go, you’re going to have to be willing to piss a lot of people off.”

    

Harry breath caught, as his frantic thoughts came to a stand still.  He wasn’t going to be tricked again.  “What do you mean?” he bit out.

     

“If we go to Japan, you have to be willing to lie to everyone.  Ron, Hermione, _everyone_.  They all have to believe that you are right here, at the Dursleys', all summer long.”

       

Harry frowned, his brow furrowing.  At least, his desire to smash things was gone.  He wished she’d stop giving him small pieces of information and just tell him what was going on.  “You mean we can go?”

 

Adrianna smiled.  “Why else do you think I’m here?  I spent the last four days arranging things so I could get you away unnoticed.”

    

Get him away.  He could actually leave, but … “But why does it have to be a secret?”  Harry didn’t like lying to Ron and Hermione.  They didn’t deserve that.  He knew they were worried about him, would worry about him all summer if they didn’t understand.

 

“I can’t have anyone following us on either side.  People here don’t necessarily trust me and this connection you have with Voldemort …” Adrianna paused, her hazel eyes piercingly intense.  “Until you actually learn Occlumency, I don’t want to take any chances.”

  

Right, mustn’t forget that a mad dark wizard wanted to kill him.  Harry couldn’t take the intensity of her gaze anymore and looked away.  Shite, it sucked being him.  But he could leave if he wanted to.  Part of him couldn’t believe this was actually happening.  “We’re really going to disobey Dumbledore?” he said, almost to himself.       

 

Adrianna snorted.  “What’s with you people?  It’s like he’s God around here!  Where does he even get off dictating where you go?  It’s _not_ his decision.”

 

Harry was taken aback by her anger.  No one ever questioned Dumbledore.  He took care of him, them, everyone.

 

“Look, Harry,” Adrianna said heatedly.  “I’m your family, not him.  And if it wasn’t for Dumbledore’s paternalistic crap it might not have taken us so long to know that.”

 

Harry’s breath hissed as he inhaled.  Hadn’t he thought the same thing himself?  “Do you really believe that?” he asked softly.  A world where they couldn’t trust Dumbledore was pretty scary.

 

Adrianna looked away, saying just as quietly, the ferocity leaving her, “Yes.  No.  I think Fate had a lot to do with it, too.  But as my raging against Fate never gets me very far ...” She looked back at him, suddenly appearing tired.  “Dumbledore wants what’s best for you, I don’t doubt that.  It’s just—”

 

“—not his decision,” Harry finished, feeling surprisingly liberated by the idea.  He didn’t _have_ to do as Dumbledore said.  But was he finally in control of his own life, or was Adrianna going to take control?  “ _You_ think we should leave?”

 

“Obviously.  But it is your decision.”

 

Harry nodded, so he _was_ in control here.  He thought of Hermione and Ron, even Ginny and Mrs. Weasley, worrying about him, thinking he was rotting away here.  Of course, if he didn’t go to Japan, he _would_ be rotting away here.

 

Still, they’d be furious that he didn’t tell them and they’d have every right to be.  Suddenly, Harry wished it _wasn’t_ his decision.  It would be easier if he could just go and be able to blame someone else.

 

“Responsibility sucks, huh?”  Adrianna said with an expression that was both bitter and playful.

 

“Is there an option where no one gets hurt?”  Harry asked hopefully.  Maybe there was something else—

 

“Nope.”

 

Great.  That was just great.  Well, Harry wasn’t very well going to _choose_ to stay at the Dursleys’ just to keep his friends happy with him.  Hadn’t they done the very same thing to him last summer?  Kept secrets, for safety's sake.  Harry wouldn’t be doing anything different.  “So what’s your plan?”

 

Adrianna’s smile turned mischievous.  She stood and strode to his window.  Lifting her wand, the Imperturbable fell.  Noise that passed for music once again pounded in his ears, but it easily masked the sound of the window opening.  

 

“Harry, why are there bars on your window?”  Adrianna yelled over the noise.

 

Harry shrugged.  Wasn’t the answer obvious?  This was _prison_.  “Long story,” he yelled back.

 

Another flick of her wand and the bars were gone.  Somehow, the casual use of magic made Harry feel both calmer and filled with adrenaline.  Adrianna leaned out the window, yelling, “Dobby!”

   

Harry’s eyes widened, and he finally sprang from his bed.  Leaning out of the window, he saw his friend crouching in the bushes.  The sight was far from soothing.  The last time Dobby was here, he’d been cited for under-aged magic.  “Someone will see him,” he whispered to Adrianna, frantically.

 

She rolled her eyes and waved a hand dismissively.  “It’s fine.”  Adrianna gestured for Dobby to come up and the elf grinned widely.   _Pop_.  Turning around, Harry found the elf in the middle of his bedroom.  

 

“Harry Potter!”  Dobby bellowed, launching himself at Harry and attaching himself to Harry's knees.  “Dobby came for Harry Potter.”

 

“Um, thanks.”  Harry looked at his cousin, while she closed the window and replaced the Imperturbable, wondering when she was going to explain.  When he imagined himself being rescued, it never involved Dobby.  

      

“Harry Potter is living in squalor.  Dobby will clean for him.”  The elf busied himself, humming happily as he began cleaning the days-old food off the floor.  Harry could only stare after him as he worked at a dizzying pace.  He felt a rush of affection as the rank food disappeared.  He reckoned it _was_ pretty disgusting.  

 

Feeling a bit overwhelmed, Harry turned to his cousin and asked, “But how is Dobby—?”

 

“He’s part of my brilliant escape plan,” Adrianna said with a self-satisfied smile.

 

Harry just stared at her.  How was _that_ an explanation?  “I don’t understand.”

 

Adrianna pulled a vial from her bag, and she shook it at him playfully.  “This is a special version of Polyjuice, courtesy of a few friends.  That’s what I was paged about that day in Hogwarts.  It’s specially modified for elves, very rare, with a few extra ingredients thrown in to help modify voice, mannerisms, handwriting … and as with all the MIA concealment potions, they are designed to last indefinitely, until the antidote is given.”  

 

She had to be kidding.  Dobby couldn’t impersonate Harry.  He was … he was _Dobby_.  “You’re serious?”

 

Adrianna grinned, continuing, “So, Dobby becomes Harry.  He stays safe and sound at the Dursleys’.  Voldemort doesn’t look elsewhere.  Everybody’s content, everybody’s safe.”

       

Except for Ron and Hermione, who wanted Harry with them.  Funny, how he couldn’t realize that an hour ago and now it seemed so clear.  He didn’t want to hurt them but … _fuck_ , he wanted to get out of here.

 

“If I write letters ahead of time, to Ron, Hermione, and the Weasley’s, date them later in the summer, tell them I’m fine … it will be the truth,” Harry suggested eagerly.  Please, say that will work.

 

Adrianna nodded, but looked skeptical.  “They’ll still be hurt.”  Harry shoulders sagged.  Maybe he shouldn’t go.

 

“But,” Adrianna continued, “then you’d miss out on the adventure.  The travel.  The discovery.  The under-aged magic,” she cajoled, coming next to him and nudging his shoulder with hers.  Harry bit his cheek to keep from smiling back, but leaned into her a bit, enjoying the simple touch of her shoulder.  

 

Well, Harry always was a selfish bastard.  Why stop now?  He reached back and pulled a strand of hair from his head.  “You’ll need this.  For the potion.”

 

Adrianna grinned proudly, taking the hair.  “That’s my boy.  Potter through and through.”  Harry knew he had just made an extremely selfish decision, but as he shared a broad grin with his cousin, he felt absurdly proud.  “Go, get started on those letters,” Adrianna ordered lightly.

 

It was ridiculous how weightless and cheerful Harry felt, as he wrote letter after letter of artful approximations of the truth.  Plenty to Hermione and Ron.  Several to the Weasley’s.  A few extra for Ginny.  For some reason, he felt particularly guilty about lying to her.

 

Watching Dobby morph into his mirror image was one of the more bizarre experiences of Harry’s young life.  But not quite as bizarre as the list of instructions Adrianna left him on how he was to dress and behave, making special care to be sure he always matched his socks.

 

Packing was fast.  Harry took very little, only the most important things.  His minimized firebolt, his wand, a few pictures, a few necessities.  Adrianna scoffed at his hand-me-downs, saying they would get him new clothes.  Clothes that fit him.  Unfortunately, Hedwig would have to stay to maintain appearances and Adrianna spent an amusing amount of time explaining the situation to her.

 

When they were ready to leave, Harry felt the most incredible rush.  He couldn’t stop smiling, even with the anxiety coursing through him.  “How are we going?” he asked excitedly.

 

“We’ll drive to the ferry and take it to France,” Adrianna explained as she went through his things one last time.  She looked strangely motherly doing it despite the fact that “motherly” was not a word that described Harry’s cousin.  He swallowed a lump in his throat.

 

“Once we’re there, and you can’t be tracked by the British Ministry anymore … oh, I almost forgot.”  Adrianna pulled out another vial.  “Drink this.  It’ll dampen your magic big time, but it will completely black out all Legilimency for forty-eight hours.  By then we’ll be too far away for Voldemort to locate you, and he’ll just assume you’re still here, but blocking him some other way.”

 

So, this was it then.  They were really going.  Harry took the muddy potion, holding his breath as he drank it.  It wasn’t that bad, a little spicy.

           

“From France, we can Apparate anywhere we want to go.”

 

Harry choked on the last bit of potion.  “Adrianna, I don’t know how to Apparate.”

 

“I know.  You’re far too young for that.”  Adrianna said cheekily, absently patting his back as his cough subsided.  

 

“Side-Along Apparation?”  Harry gasped, his breathing returned to normal.

 

“Two adults?  Across the globe?  God, no.  Do you know how dangerous that would be?  Maybe with a small child but …” She held out her wrist and lifted up a medallion.  “As long as we are both touching this, you will Apparate where ever I do, _and_ you will be covered under my International Apparation License.  Cross-continental Apparition is very illegal to the general public.”

 

Right.  Of course.  Couldn’t have people Apparating across the globe willy-nilly, now could they.  Oh God, he was going to be Apparating across the globe.  Nothing had ever sounded so exciting.

 

Adrianna clipped his backpack and tossed it to him.  Smiling broadly, she asked, “Ready?”

 

Oh yeah, he was ready.

  
  
  


* * * * *

  
  


_Sunday August 4, 1996_

 

It was after midnight and Ron was wide awake.  This time, he hadn’t awakened from a nightmare.   _This time_ , he didn’t even get that far.  His eyes had been glued to the cracked ceiling of the Grimmauld Place bedroom ever since he had laid down.  Next to him, his roommate was conspicuously absent.

 

Not that Ron was really worried about Harry.  Not like Hermione and Ginny were.  The two of them were having kittens about “evil” Adrianna having Harry in her “clutches.”  They had _actually_ used those words.  

 

Ron, for his part, was relieved.  Harry _hadn’t_ been kidnapped.  He had clearly chosen to go to Japan and who wouldn’t, given the opportunity?  But more than that, Ron was mostly relieved that the son of an ogre who had been writing him all summer hadn’t been his best mate.  It was nice to finally get a _real_ letter from him.

 

So, Harry was off on an adventure somewhere and would be returned to them soon enough.  Hopefully, with a whole lot less surliness.   _Ron_ had every faith that Harry would be back, entertaining them with stories of his exploits.  Lucky git.

 

Ron knew that he should be angry at his best mate, despite the heartfelt apology in the letter.  That’s what Hermione kept telling him anyway, but he just couldn’t summon the energy to be irate.  He needed all he had to deal with Ginny and Hermione’s anger and fear.  Not to mention Mum.

 

But, if Harry’s escapades weren’t bothering him, why was he still awake?  It’s not as if the last twenty-four hours hadn’t been exhausting enough.  Though, not being able to fall asleep certainly wasn’t anything new.  Ron’s body had learned to fight off sleep as long as it could, to avoid the torment of his dreams.

 

One would _think_ that having Hermione safely sleeping directly below him would be able to relax him enough that he could at least _fall_ asleep.  Or maybe that was the problem.  That persistent hum that Hermione caused throughout his body with her very presence.  It wouldn’t let him rest.  Or maybe it was just what happened last night.  

 

They had yet to acknowledge it.  The kiss.  Maybe it didn’t … no, it _happened_.  Ron could still taste her.  He wanted that taste again.  He _needed_ it.  It was like an compulsion.  Only he craved it more than chocolate, more than Butterbeer, more than a lifetime of Mum’s cooking.  This must be what it feels like to have a Firewhiskey habit.  Or to go round the bend.  Yes, he was definitely going round the bend.

 

Yet, he and Hermione had managed to let twenty-four hours pass, in almost constant company of one another, without a hint that anything had ever happened.  Well, it _had_ been a busy day.

 

Part of him knew that it was better this way.  What good could ever come of talking about it anyway?  Ron didn’t even _like_ talking.  Talking about kissing … that was a walking nightmare.  It just worried him that Hermione hadn’t brought it up.  She _loved_ to talk.  So, maybe she wanted to pretend it never happened.

 

The idea made Ron’s chest tight and his stomach queasy.  And he didn’t know why.  He was _glad_ she hadn’t brought it up.  Glad, damn it.  Did Ron really want to hear her reject him?  Torment him?  

 

Of course, there was another scenario … they could kiss again.   _Fuck_ , Ron wanted to kiss Hermione again.  But all _that_ would bring was a deeper craving, a darker obsession, a more assured future where he was shattered and alone.  He _should_ keep his distance, before it was too late.

 

Though part of him knew it was already too late.  He couldn’t willingly walk away from this now.  His body no longer listened to him.  If he ever had the chance to touch Hermione again, he couldn’t _not_ do it.

 

And if it was inevitable, why was Ron torturing himself by waiting.  She was right down-stairs.  He could just sneak into her room and … what?  Grope her in her sleep?  What kind of bloke was he?  Though, he could slip down and just … look at her.  Reassure himself that she was fine.  Maybe then his brain would allow him to sleep.

 

As he climbed out of bed and made his way to her room, he wondered if tonight was the night he would actually have enough self-control to stop at looking.  How much could happen with Ginny in the room, anyway?  Shite, Ginny.  Maybe … Ron’s heart just about stopped when he opened the door to find Hermione’s bed empty.  

 

Then Ron noticed a soft light coming from the crack in the door across the hall.  Carefully, he made his way to the drawing room where he found the object of his search sitting in the corner of the sofa with her feet curled beneath her.  Harry’s letter and the small draw-string pouch were clutched in her hand.  A single candle burned next to her, making her skin glow.  Hermione looked up and smiled shyly at him.

 

“Hey,” Ron whispered, feeling warmth spread throughout his body, making him feel as though he had far, far too many Butterbeers.  He echoed her soft smile and came to sit next to her.

 

“Nightmare?”  Hermione asked.

 

“Nah, never got that far.  What’s your excuse?”

 

Hermione shrugged and held up the pouch.  “They haven’t written back.  It’s been hours.  I’m just … someone needs to wait until they write back.”  She sounded calm, but Ron could feel the intensity behind her words.

 

“Harry said he’s fine, Hermione.  Better than fine, actually,” he reassured softly, touching the letter and brushing his hand across hers in the process.  His heart rate quickened, and he felt _that_ part of him twitch, showing its first reaction to her nearness.  Fuck, he was pathetic.  It was just a hand for God’s sake.

 

“He’s with _her_ , Ron.  How could he _possibly_ be fine?” Hermione snapped bitterly.

 

And still his arousal didn’t lesson.  If anything it got worse.  Definitely pathetic.  Hermione was clearly upset, and he was a wanker.  On impulse, Ron grabbed her hand, their fingers intertwining involuntarily.  “Hermione, you were angry at Adrianna because she abandoned Harry, but now it’s clear she didn’t abandon him at all.  This is a good thing, love.”

 

Shite.  Ron froze as he realized what he had just said.  What the hell was wrong with him?  He could feel Hermione’s eyes on his face, and he forced himself to meet them and pretend he hadn’t just called her “love.”  Maybe, he could claim temporary insomnia-induced insanity.

 

Hermione was looking at him intently.  Did she want something from him?  It looked as though she did.  But how the hell was he supposed to know what it was, if she didn’t tell him?  Maybe he should try and kiss her again, just in case _that’s_ what she wanted.  Right.  Why would she want _that_?

           

“Ron, last night …”

 

Oh shite.  Ron’s eyes jerked up and only then did he realize he had been staring at her lips.  Hermione wanted to talk about last night after all.  Fuck, what should he say?  What should he do?  He wasn’t ready for this.  

 

“Yeah,” Ron croaked, knowing he must look panicked.

 

Hermione turned her head away, whispering, “Never mind.”

 

She sounded crestfallen, making Ron feel like the biggest arse in the magical world.  He couldn’t let this go now, not when she sounded so rejected.  He was _not_ rejecting her.  He forced himself to say, “No, what were you going to say?”  His throat suddenly felt like the Sahara.

 

Hermione glanced back at him, thankfully the sad look left, leaving only anxiety.  She took a deep breath and her eyes became fixated on her lap, her teeth gnawing on her lower lip.  The candle light made her skin—

 

“What happened last night?”  Hermione asked and all the breath left Ron’s body.  Oh God.

 

Ron pulled his hand away from hers, unable to maintain contact _and_ have this conversation.  He ran his hands roughly over his face.  Should he act dumb?  Pretend he didn’t understand?  It had always worked for him in the past.

 

“Er,” he started.  But acting dumb didn’t work very well with Hermione.  It usually just made her angry.  Then she’d insult him and say he was stupid and he’d feel like shite and start a row …

 

Speak, idiot, Hermione wanted him to say something.  “I, um … came to your room to see if you were all right.  You were … er … talking in your sleep.  So, I came over to see what you were saying … and uh …”  

 

See, Ron thought she was having a sex dream about him, and wanted to make sure.  Shite, she was going to kill him.  He forced himself to keep talking, his face buried in his hands.  He couldn’t look at her.  “And I kinda sat on the edge of your bed and … um, leaned … then you kissed …”

 

It sounded so awful.  Ron panicked.  “I’m sorry, Hermione.  I’m sorry.  I just got caught up.  I shouldn’t have kissed you back.  I knew you weren’t really awake.  I swear, I’ll …”

 

Swear what, fool?  That he’ll never do it again.  Ron knew he couldn’t do that.

 

“No.   _I’m_ sorry, Ron,” Hermione said stiffly, looking at her lap.  She was hugging herself.  “You shouldn’t have been subjected—”

 

Ron laughed out-loud.  “Subjected?  Shite, Hermione, it was bloody brilliant!”  Fuck!  Fuck!  Did he have _no_ self-control left?

 

Her eyes snapped up and she looked at him with open-mouthed shock.  He shifted uncomfortably, feeling the intense need to run.  What was she thinking?  Ugh!  He couldn’t believe he just wondered what a girl was thinking.  What was happening to him?  

 

Not looking at her, Ron said, “We should try and get some sleep.”  He needed to get out of there before he humiliated himself further.

 

But before he could stand, Ron felt her hand on top of his again.  “You can sleep here,” Hermione said softly, so softly that he thought he had imagined it.

 

Ron searched her face for signs of fear of him.  All he found was welcoming warmth.  It seemed too good to be true.  “Really?” he asked, a distant echo of the night before.

 

Hermione smiled as if she were remembering it as well.  “Yeah.”  Her voice was velvet. “I’m going to wait a little longer.”  Her hand clutched the small bag.  “I’d like it if you’d—”

 

He didn’t make her finish, just squeezed her hand, and moved to lie down next to her on the sofa.  Ron wasn’t stupid enough to risk her taking the invitation back.  Besides if she wanted company, he couldn’t let her wait alone.  It was awkward, as the furniture wasn’t nearly long enough for him, but he managed to get semi-comfortable.

 

“Here.”  Hermione took his head in her hands and guided it to her lap.

 

Now, _that_ was nice.  Curled up on the sofa, with his head on her thighs, her hands sifting through his hair, Ron drifted off to sleep easily, all his pesky thoughts slipping away.

 

 

           

 

* * * * *

  
  


Hermione could tell the exact moment Ron fell asleep.  His breath evened and the tension seeped out of his muscles.  It was fantastic to her to think he ever had trouble sleeping.  He always fell asleep so easily when he was with her.

 

There was nothing quite like the feel of him cradled in her lap, his silky copper locks caressing her fingers.  Hermione took a deep breath.  She just loved him _so_ much.

 

They were on the brink here.  Teetering.  Precariously close to falling.  Ron could fall either way.  Towards her or away.  Hermione could feel the potential in the room.  Never had she been so close to getting what she wanted.  Maybe he wasn’t in love with her.  Maybe he didn’t even fancy her.  But he was _close_.

 

Ron cared for her.  Deeply.  That much was clear.  They had the strongest of friendships, based on trust, mutual respect, and genuine affection.  Hermione would even go so far to say he loved her.  As a friend, that is.  And now … _now_ , it was becoming clear that he desired her, as well.

 

The very thought took Hermione’s breath.  How could someone like Ron be attracted, physically, to plain little her?  But he was.  The evidence was there.  He kissed her and told her it was brilliant.  He said she was beautiful.  More than beautiful, _gorgeous_.  And she had _seen_ the lust in his eyes.

 

Lust.  Wow.  Friendship and lust, it was quite a nice start, really.  Essential building blocks to a long, lasting relationship.  To falling in love.  Hermione had never felt so intensely hopeful and _terrified_ in her life.  She could see everything he wanted.  Right there.  She just had to reach out and grab it.   _Without_ sending it tumbling into the abyss.

 

Looking down, Hermione smiled as Ron burrowed into her lap, like a child with a teddy bear.

 

Ron wasn’t ready.  As much as Hermione wanted him to be, he wasn’t ready for the relationship.  No, that wasn’t right.  It was the conversation he wasn’t ready for.  The one where they sit down and discuss their feelings and commit to a relationship.  If she pushed, before he was properly primed, she’d lose him.  But if she didn’t, she risked loosing this … this opportunity.  And who knew if she’d ever have another?

 

Hermione knew what she had to do and it thrilled her, horrified her, and a million other emotions she couldn’t name.  She simply needed to play up what she already had from him.  The two essential ingredients.  The caring of friendship and the heat of lust.

 

He desired her, right?  All Hermione needed to do was foster that a little.  Nothing crazy.  She wasn’t a slag or anything.  Just a bit of kissing among friends to make him want her more.  Make her indispensable to him.  That’s what she needed to be.  Indispensable.  Then Ron wouldn’t be able to keep from falling in love with her.  He wouldn’t be able to leave her.  Not ever.

 

Well, that was the theory, anyway.  Hermione leaned down and pressed a kiss to his crown.  And now it was her plan.  Her incredibly idiotic, insanely hazardous plan.  She _could_ loose everything, her pride, her reputation, her best friend … but if it worked …

 

Hermione had to chance it.  What if she didn’t and Ron was the love of her life and he found someone else?  Then they would both be miserable, and it would be her fault for not doing what she needed to do, _now_.  It was finally time to prove, once and for all, that the Sorting Hat hadn’t made a mistake.  Hermione _was_ a Gryffindor.

 

She leaned over and blew out her candle, shifting a bit in her seat to get into a reclining position.  Encouraged when Ron didn’t wake, Hermione kicked her feet up next to him, and he shifted from hugging her waist to snuggling into her belly, causing a fluttering to settle in her abdomen.

 

Leaning back against the arm rest, she closed her eyes.  Hermione doubted that she would be able to sleep …

  
  


* * * * *

  
  


“Hermione.  Ron.  Wake up, you gits.  Now!  If you don’t want the twins to find you, you had better _move_!”

 

Ginny’s voice broke through the fog, and Hermione blinked her eyes open to find the bright light of day.  She felt a weight on her chest and looked down to see a mop of red hair lying on her upper body.

 

“You two are _never_ going to hear the end of this!”  Ginny whispered harshly, hands on hips.  She was doing a wonderful imitation of her mother.

 

Hermione felt her face turn unbearably hot as she came fully awake and realized the nature of the situation.  “Ron!” she said sharply and lifted his head unceremoniously off her body.

 

Ron’s beautiful blue eyes opened and looked up at her.  When he smiled, she forgot they weren’t alone, a silly smile coming across her face as she smiled back at him.

 

“Are you trying to make me retch?”  

 

At his sister’s words Ron turned red and sprung into a seated position.  Looking flustered, his eyes darted around the room.  Disappointed, Hermione’s eyes dropped from him, and she looked down at her hands.  

 

“Oh dear … Ron,” she called in a nervously.  

 

He met her eyes, and she lifted her hand, opening it to reveal the drawstring bag.  There was a roll of parchment inside.

  
  


* * * * *

 


	14. Happy Homecoming

Ginny sat on the curb outside Twelve Grimmauld Place biting her fingernails, a habit she had given up the day she turned nine.  Luckily, her mother was too busy pacing and foot tapping to notice.  As a matter of fact, everyone was too preoccupied to notice.  

 

They made quite a sight, just shy of a dozen witches and wizards in various amounts of Muggle clothing.  In fact, they were quite fortunate that no Muggles had happened upon them as they milled about in front of a house that no outsider could see.  But that was why they were waiting outside in the first place.  Adrianna couldn’t enter, or even find the place, without Dumbledore telling her the secret, _personally_.

 

For her part, Ginny hoped that Dumbledore would, instead, curse the witch back to wherever she came from.  Then they could just grab Harry and run.  Why were they even considering telling Adrianna where Headquarters was?  It seemed pretty damned daft to Ginny, but no one listened to _her_.  No one _ever_ listened to her.  Of course, Dumbledore had yet to show up so … maybe they would be able to ditch Adrianna and disappear into the house after all.

 

“Shite,” Ginny swore under her breath as she bit off a nail, making it bleed.  She sucked on the finger, looking around to see that there would be no one reprimanding her for swearing, because, _again,_ no one was paying her one bit of attention.  Did they ever?

 

Damn it!  When were they going to get here?  Ginny had assumed Harry and Adrianna would be arriving by Portkey, but if they were, then they would be here by now.  Portkeys were very precise and the letter they had received yesterday morning said that they’d be here at two in the morning.  It was now two-twelve.

 

She knew this because her mother kept conjuring the time on the sidewalk and earning scathing remarks from the already hacked off Mad-Eye.  When Harry hadn’t shown up at precisely two, Mrs.  Weasley had insisted that the lights in the Put-Outer be put back on, so the new arrivals would be able to see.  Moody _strongly_ disagreed, but after a heated argument he relented and was now muttering about it under his breath.

 

Ginny searched the sky, looking for signs of broomsticks, until the screeching sound of a car’s breaks jerked her eyes down to the street.  It was one of those red bubble shaped cars, shinny and squat.  Ginny’s heart skipped a beat when she saw Harry emerge.  Finally.  Wait.  Was that the driver’s side?

 

The door closest to Ginny opened and out stepped the object of her summer’s hate-fest, looking disgustingly bright and innocent in jeans and a long ponytail.  Adrianna turned and leaned over the car, looking pointedly at Harry.  “Remind me, no more city driving.”

 

Harry flashed her a brilliant winning smile.  “Hey, I did good.  Admit it.”  His smile made Ginny a bit light headed.  He was here.  He was home.  But why was he driving a car?  Maybe _this_ wasn’t Harry either.  Ginny squeezed her arms tightly, what was left of her fingernails digging sharply into the flesh of her upper arms.

 

Adrianna rolled her eyes, smiling affectionately.  “Yeah, for someone who’s been driving for four days you did fantastic.”  She held up her hands and Harry tossed her the keys in what appeared to be a practiced manner.

 

“You let him drive!”  Molly shrieked in a voice so high that it made Ginny wince.

 

Adrianna turned around slowly, the smile fading from her face.  All traces of affection left as her expression took on a hard edge, especially around the eyes.  The witch crossed her arms over her chest.  

 

“He’s sixteen,” Adrianna said in clipped tones, her eyes fixed on Mrs.  Weasley.  “He even has a license.  A conjured one, yes, but a license all the same.  Besides, Harry had to drive, otherwise we could never have found this place.”

 

“Driving is dangerous,” Molly bit out.

 

The corner of Adrianna’s mouth twitched in bitter humor.  “A lot of things are dangerous.”  She looked over the older woman carefully.  “So, you’re Molly Weasley,” she said softly, causing Ginny narrow her eyes.  

 

What did she mean by _that_?  What an odd thing to say.  It should have been challenging, but it wasn’t.  It was … contemplative, maybe.  Adrianna watchfully took in the group, lingering on Mr. Weasley and the twins.  Ginny remembered Adrianna’s strange reaction to her last name the day they met.  Did she—

 

“Oh, right.  ‘Drana, this is Mrs. Weasley …” Harry stepped forward to make introductions and, suddenly, Ginny couldn’t hear a word he, or anyone else, said.  Her train of thought was gone.  Poof.  Just like that.  

 

Bloody hell.  Was that _really_ Harry Potter?  Wow.  Really, _wow_.  Ginny scrambled to her feet to get a better look at him and when she did she had to bite her lip to keep from gasping out loud.

        

Harry was taller, four to five inches taller.  He wasn’t _tall_ , per say, but you could no longer call him a small, slight boy.  In fact, you couldn’t call him thin.  His face had filled out and lost its gaunt appearance.  Instead, it looked healthy.  His clothes framed new muscles, fitting him well.  Too well, judging from the way Ginny’s palms were sweating.  It wasn’t fair that he was _more_ attractive.   _Now_ , what was she supposed to do?

 

But more important than the general look of virility and good health that surrounded the object of Ginny’s childhood crush, was the light and fire that was back in Harry’s eyes, the light that she saw on that train platform all those years ago.  God, Ginny hoped this was the real Harry.  She swore that if it was, she’d forgive Adrianna everything.  If she could do _this_ to her Harry, she was Ginny’s bleeding hero.

 

Mad-Eye, however, was less optimistic.  When introductions reached him, he barked, “That ain’t Harry Potter.  No one changes _that_ much in six weeks.”

 

The guilty apprehensive look already on Harry’s face intensified as he responded meekly, “Fourteen weeks, actually.”  

 

Moody growled, stepping closer and glaring at him with his creepy eye.  “Excuse me.”

 

Ginny held her breath, praying that the answer would be a good one.  She couldn’t take it if this was another impostor.  Harry swallowed and glanced back at his cousin, “For Adrianna and I, it’s been fourteen weeks.”  

 

“With alternate planes of reality and all,” Adrianna continued for him, fixing Mad-Eye with a look that could only be described as insolent.  That woman didn’t seem to be intimidated by anyone.

 

Harry cleared his throat.  “Time moved differently where we trained in Japan…” he trailed off with a mildly frightened look.  From the look on the withered Auror’s face, he should be afraid.  Ginny was.

 

Mad-Eye stepped still closer to Harry, saying quiet, but menacingly, “Prove it.”

 

Harry’s eyebrows rose as he squeaked, “Prove that time—”

 

“He means that you’re you, Harry,” Adrianna interrupted, looking as if she’d had quite enough, as if this was just one more petty inconvenience.  She was an Empath.  Didn’t she know what this meant to Ginny and her family?

 

No sooner had she thought it, then Adrianna’s face turned sharply, her eyes boring into Ginny’s, making her freeze with apprehension.  But then, Adrianna’s expression softened, just a little, around the mouth and eyes.  Still looking at Ginny, she said quietly to her cousin, “Just tell him something that other people wouldn’t know.”

 

“Oh, ok.”  Harry agreed, appearing grateful for the instruction and he began telling details of past exploits that made Ginny’s eyebrows rise and her mother gasp in outrage.  It seemed neither of them knew much about Harry’s past adventures.  

 

It wasn’t until he had told every last detail of the day that Moody and the Order rescued Harry from the Dursleys’ last summer that Mad-Eye finally grunted his approval.  Well, maybe not approval, reluctant acceptance maybe.

 

Though, perhaps Moody would have continued the interrogation if Hermione hadn’t pushed herself forward.  “Harry Potter, you scared us to death,” she cried tearfully, stamping her foot.  Then she threw herself at him and he caught her in a warm, brotherly hug.

 

Ginny could barely hear the “sorry,” he whispered into Hermione’s bushy curls.  She was struggling with the jealousy that overcame her during their prolonged embrace, but in the end, she couldn’t help but smile.  Profound relief filled her.  This was finally her Harry.  He was really home.

 

“Wow, it feels like forever since I’ve seen any of you,” Harry said, pulling away from Hermione and turning to greet Ron.  “Sorry, mate.  I—”

 

Ron pulled him into an uncharacteristic, but manly hug.  Releasing him quickly, he muttered, “I suppose we’re even for last year, then.  Just don’t do it again.”  They grinned sheepishly at one another and stared at their feet.  Boys.  Ginny rolled her eyes.

 

Then she stood, paralyzed with astonishment, as Harry turned to greet her next.  Was Ginny really the next most important person?  Or was she just the next closest in proximity?

 

“Hey, Gin,” Harry greeted with a small smile.  “Sorry ‘bout the deception and stuff.”  He stepped forward and opened his arms … oh God, he was going to hug her.  Since when was Harry so comfortable touching people?  In touching _her_?

           

Then, God, Harry’s arms were around her for the first time ever and Ginny was just sure she was going to die.  Tears fell freely from her cheeks and she brushed them away angrily, even as she put her arms around his shoulders to hug him back.  Wow, were those _really_ Harry’s shoulders?

 

The embrace seemed to last forever.  Ginny wondered if Harry was waiting for her to speak.  If she stayed silent, would he just keep holding her?  She could do that.  But then again, she had three brothers here, so it wasn’t all that realistic.  “We missed you,” Ginny managed to croak into his shoulder.

 

Harry pulled back and smiled at her, softly saying, “I missed you, too.”

 

Her heart tumbled dangerously and all the breath left her body.  Ginny struggled to control herself as her mother swept over and crushed Harry in a suffocating hug.  It gave her a chance to regain her bearings.  Mustn’t over analyze this.  It was just a friendly hug.  Harry was hugging _everyone_.  She wasn’t anyone special.

 

After Harry had greeted the rest of her family, Tonks, and Remus, he looked nervously to his cousin.  She gave him a reassuring smile as she played with her keys making the back of the car pop open.  Pulling out a worn, leather backpack, she tossed it to Harry and slung her own bag over her shoulder.  Closing the boot, Adrianna then pulled out her wand and tapped the car.  “ _Reducio.”_

 

“You can’t do magic like that in the middle of the street!”  Molly yelled, outraged.  “The Muggles!”  Of course, the screaming would keep them all sleeping tight.

 

“’Cause, you guys are _so_ inconspicuous,” Adrianna said, rolling her eyes.  “No one’s watching.  I would be able to tell.  I’m an Empath remember?  You don’t think a Muggle observing magic would give off strong emotional energy?”

 

Mrs. Weasley seethed as she stared into Adrianna’s hard, arrogant eyes.  It struck Ginny that the hardness came and went, like walls that the witch could produce at will.  “I don’t see how … enchanted Muggle objects are illegal in _this_ country, young lady,” her mother chastised, as if she were talking to a young child.

 

“Molly,” Arthur warned, putting an arm around his wife’s waist.  

 

It seemed Ginny’s mother was just itching for a row and Adrianna seemed completely willing to comply.  “Well then, it’s a good thing it’s not enchanted.  It’s _just_ a car.”  She smiled without mirth.  “And _now_ it’s a really small car.”  Adrianna picked it up and dropped it into her bag for emphasis.

 

Ginny stifled a grin at the cheekiness and saw her brothers do the same.  Cheekiness was highly regarded in the Weasley household.  That is, by all by but its matriarch, who continued to scowl, her chest heaving in anger.

 

“Really, Mrs. Weasley,” Harry said quickly, clearly uncomfortable with the tension.  “The car can’t do anything on its own.”

 

Molly’s answer was interrupted by a loud, _Crack_ , as Dumbledore appeared on the sidewalk.  He looked at the lit street lamps with raised brows, then turned to smile pleasantly at his newly arrived student.  “Harry, my dear boy.  It’s nice to see you looking so well.”

 

“Thank you, Professor,” Harry said anxiously, glancing between the Headmaster and his cousin, who Dumbledore was now approaching.

 

The Professor held his hands folded before him in a casual posture as he peered at Adrianna over the tops of his spectacles.  He towered over her, even with Adrianna pulling herself up to full height, her arms crossed and her posture rigid.  “Miss Potter, I specifically remember having a conversation where I said Harry was safest at the Dursleys'.”

 

Ginny looked anxiously at Harry.  What would he do if Dumbledore refused to tell Adrianna about Grimmauld Place?  Would he leave with her?  Would they loose him for good?

 

Adrianna tilted her chin and narrowed her eyes.  “Then you’ll also remember how I disagreed.”

 

Ginny gasped and she wasn’t the only one.  Who did Adrianna think she was, talking to Dumbledore like that?  There was arrogance and there was _arrogance_.  It was almost inconceivable.  The silence stretched and Ginny could only wonder what an angry Dumbledore would look like.

 

But it was the Headmaster who finally spoke.  “You certainly are a Potter.”  And it appeared he wasn’t angry at all.

 

Adrianna shrugged, “So they say.”

 

Dumbledore smiled in a completely genuine way and Ginny felt like she could breathe again.  It seemed she no longer wanted Dumbledore to hex Adrianna at all.  She just wanted peace and to get the new improved, _hugging_ , Harry safely through _that_ front door.

 

“Well, Ms.  Potter,” the Headmaster said, a surprising twinkle in his eye, “welcome to Number Twelve Grimmauld Place.”

  
  
  
  


* * * * *

  
  


 

Harry looked good.  He looked happy and healthy.  Ron felt immensely relieved that his original instincts about Adrianna had been correct.  After all, Harry needed family.  No, Ron thought, as the large group of people filed back into Grimmauld Place, Harry wasn’t the one to be worried about.  Hermione on the other hand…

 

She had been shooting Adrianna deadly glares ever since the witch first stepped out of the car.  With every unapologetic, self-assured thing that Harry’s cousin said, Ron could _feel_ Hermione’s temperature rising.  And then when Dumbledore gave Adrianna the secret to Grimmauld Place … Ron had been seriously afraid that his best friend was going to hex the Headmaster and to hell with the consequences.

 

Ron caught the back of Hermione’s shirt as she tried to push her way up front to Harry and Adrianna.  She turned and gave him a furious glare, which he countered with one of warning.  When she pulled away to climb the steps of the house, the twins, Tonks, and Lupin were between her and Harry, so Ron was satisfied, still he was careful to stay close behind her.

 

What he _wanted_ to do was grab her hand and force Hermione to stay next to him.  He wanted to entwine their fingers, the way they seemed to do naturally of late, and distract her from the anger she was feeling, get her to think straight again.  Ron wanted to … Ron wanted to think about something other than Hermione for five whole minutes.  God _damn_!

 

As he stepped over the threshold to the foyer, Ron heard first the familiar sound of Tonks tripping, and then the regrettably common screeching of Mrs.  Black.  “ _Hoards!  Hoards of traitors, scum, and vagrants!  Oh, to sully the good name of Black …”_

 

“Harry,” Adrianna said softly, leaning slightly toward her cousin.  “Why do you have a painting that insults you in the foyer?”  

 

Her tone indicated only mild curiosity, as if Mrs. Black was an amusing oddity.  Ron supposed this was true for … oh, ten seconds or so.  After that, a bloke was ready to tear his hair out.  And Ron had a high tolerance for overbearing females, as it seemed, they were the only kind he knew.

 

“ _How dare you?  Filth,”_ Mrs. Black seethed.  “ _This is my house_!”

 

“Really?”  Adrianna’s eyebrows rose skeptically, looking to Harry again.  “I thought this was Sirius’ house.”

 

“ _My son did not deserve_ —”

 

“This is my unfortunate great aunt, Sirius’s dead mother,” Tonks interrupted, scowling at the portrait as it continued its tirade, now directing its full venom at her.  

 

The insults Mrs.  Black directed toward Tonks were particularly harsh and did not bear repeating.  The witch took it all in stride, but Ron couldn’t help but think he’d be forced to beat the stuffing out of any actual person that said those things to a friend.  On the other hand, he couldn’t hit a woman and Mrs. Black … did she count as a woman?

 

“Well then, why is she still here?”  Adrianna asked, looking between Tonks and Harry, disgust curling her lip as she winced at the screeching.  Hermione made a harrumphing noise and Ron couldn’t understand, for the life of him, what was wrong with her.  Adrianna was _completely_ right.  Why the hell was the wretched portrait still there?

 

“We like her—” Fred yelled from the back of the crowd.

 

“—scares away the saleswitches,” George quipped, nodding solemnly.  

 

“—and the undesirable—”

 

“It’s a sticking spell, ‘Drana,” Harry interrupted, even as Ron chuckled at his brothers’ joke and earned a deflating look from Hermione.  “We’ve tried everything to get it down.”

 

But did they really try _everything_?  Ron had to believe that Dumbledore, if no one else, must have some way to get rid of the thing.  Shite, if they couldn’t dispose of a simple picture how were they going to defeat Voldemort?

 

“I suggested we burn her down,” George called again.  “We didn’t try _that.”_

 

Adrianna nodded, considering.  “I suppose you’ve tried a Silencing Charm—”

 

“Of course,” Mrs.  Weasley scoffed.  

 

“ _If you try anything, you repulsive whore_ —”

 

“That burning idea is looking better and better,” Adrianna snapped back.  Ron began to chuckle, but managed to appropriately arrange his expression before Hermione’s angry glare fixed on his face.  Damn, that witch was exhausting.  

 

“What about knocking the wall down.  What’s behind there?”  Adrianna began thumping on the wall with her fist.

 

“Can we do that?”  Harry asked, intrigued.  Ron wanted to ask the same thing and realized that he would have it weren’t for Hermione.  Actually, he’d be right there next to Harry, if it weren’t for her.

 

Adrianna shrugged.  “I don’t see why not.”

 

“There’s nothing behind there, Missy,” Moody growled, fixing Adrianna with a piercing glare.

 

Tonks cleared her throat, suggesting helpfully, “Maybe it’s the next house.”  

 

“There’s only one room on this floor?  In a house this size?”  Adrianna asked incredulously, shaking her head.  “No, there is _something_ behind there.  It shouldn’t be too hard to cut this portrait out.”

 

Ron stared at the wall, trying to be interested in the mystery, but a question niggled him.  Why _was_ he minding Hermione?  He’d never felt the need before.  Why was it so ruddy important _now_ that she stay calm?  She was always annoyed.  It was nothing new.

 

“ _You wouldn’t dare!  The scum and refuse will never run the house of my_ —”

 

“Oh, shut _up_ ,” Adrianna finally yelled, pulling out her wand.  The look on her face was dangerous.  “ _Marsis Minimus_.”  

 

 _“Oh, oh!”_  Mrs.  Black tried to yell, but her voice came out in a tiny, high-pitched wine.   _“How dare you!  Filth!  Scum!”_ This time Ron couldn’t hold back his laugh and enjoyed the hilarity of it along with Harry and his brothers.  Though, the glare Hermione sent him _did_ dampen the fun.

 

Harry smiled broadly.  “I reckon we never tried that.”

 

“Brilliant!”  Fred called.  It was Ron’s sentiment exactly, though he did prefer the burning or knocking down the wall options.  

 

“Not so intimidating like that,” Ginny giggled and her father laughed, clapping his daughter on the shoulder.  At least, his sister knew when to give up a vendetta and be reasonable.  Why couldn’t _Hermione_ see the humor of the situation?

 

Chatter erupted as the group celebrated their victory over the dreaded Mrs. Black.  Only two frowns remained, Hermione’s and Mrs. Weasley’s, the two people who just happen to be the most important women in Ron’s life.  There was nothing Adrianna could do that would keep these women from their passionate resistance to her forcing her way into their lives.  

 

And for some daft reason, Ron suddenly felt as though it was his job to keep Hermione from ruining this for Harry.  What was her problem anyway?  If a powerful Empath wanted to hang around and protect Harry, and by default the rest of them, well then, have at it.  

 

There wasn’t much of a down side, as far as he could see.  Maybe with her around Ron wouldn’t have to live in constant fear of Hermione’s death … he meant all their deaths.  He wanted _everyone_ safe.  Harry, his family, and yes, Hermione.  Nothing wrong with that.  Damn it, what was wrong with him?

 

Now, if Hermione could just see it his way, instead of standing there with her fists clenched so tightly that her knuckles were white.  Ron flashed back to third year when Hermione had let Malfoy have it over Buckbeak’s “execution.”  Ron had to do something before she exploded and caused a real ruckus.

 

He scanned the room.  Thankfully, everyone seemed distracted.  The twins were whispering and gesturing toward a twittering Mrs. Black, likely trying to figure out a way to market the new charm they just observed.  Ginny was completely absorbed in her obsessive gawking at Harry and his dad seemed to be engaged in a highly charged whispered argument with his mum.  

 

Adrianna and Harry had Dumbledore, Moody, Lupin, and Tonks involved in a conversation about what was behind the wall.  Ron looked at them longingly.  It would be fun to …

 

But it was now or never.  Ron reached out and carefully wrapped his hand around Hermione’s tightly clenched fit, stroking her with his thumb.   _Relax_ , love.  Her head snapped up to look at him and her stony expression melted, her lip trembling.

 

He gave her an encouraging smile and felt her hand rest in his.  Feeling suddenly warm and pleasantly dizzy, Ron threw caution to the wind and entwined their fingers, hiding their hands behind their backs.  He stepped closer … to further conceal their hands, he told himself.  Ok, so maybe this _was_ better than discussions about portraits and walls.

 

The talk quieted when Dumbledore cleared his throat, drawing Ron and everyone else’s attention.  “Well, my dear,” he addressed Adrianna, making her wince slightly.  It seemed she couldn’t suppress her distaste at the endearment, but maybe she didn’t try.  “If you wouldn’t mind stepping into the dining room for a bit, we’d like a word with you.”

 

Adrianna drew herself up, jaw clenched and arms crossed.  Ron seriously thought she was going to refuse.  What would Dumbledore do?  What would _Hermione_ do?  He clutched her hand tighter.

 

But instead, Adrianna drawled warily, “Sure.”

 

Harry took a hasty step forward, a look of panic on his face.  “’Drana, no!”

 

And what was with the new nickname?  It wasn’t even a shortened version of her name.  Bizarre, is what it was.  Ron was sure it was irritating Hermione further.  Did Harry have to push _all_ of her buttons?

 

Adrianna’s face softened with an expression that she only seemed to use for Harry.  Ron kind of liked that his friend now had someone who would do that for him.  “Harry,” she said in a soft warning tone.  “It will be—”

 

She was interrupted by a clomping on the stairs.  “Harry Potter.  Harry Potter, Dobby is _so_ happy to see Harry Potter, sir.”  The Polyjuice imposter came barreling down the staircase, chattering loudly enough to drown everyone else out.  “Dobby has been readying rooms for the great Harry Potter and his cousin, Adrianna Potter.”

 

Dobby threw himself onto Harry, embracing him enthusiastically.  Harry, taken off guard, finally hugged him back.  “Um … hi, Dobby.  Thanks for … everything.”  

 

Ron found himself wincing as he remembered his rough treatment of Dobby when he arrived.  Little did Harry know that Dobby now had a few new bruises to repay.  Hopefully, the elf had forgotten about Ron’s abuse.  He swallowed back a wave of shame at his reckless behavior.  Nothing could be done about it now.

 

“Oh, sir is too great.  It is Dobby’s pleasure to serve you.” he gushed.

 

By the time Harry extricated himself Adrianna had gone stony and was scowling at him.  Ron was at a loss as to why the sudden change of expression.  Women were too confusing.  He felt Hermione’s hands in his.  Why did they have to be so infuriating _and_ so soft?

 

“’Drana?”  Harry questioned.

 

“Just a minute.  Dobby come here,” Adrianna instructed stiffly, taking the elf by the arm and moving next to Harry.  What was she about—oh.

 

Adrianna stepped back giving them a clear view of the two Harry’s, their proximity throwing into sharp contrast the differences between them.  They looked more like brothers, than doubles.  For the first time, Ron realized that Harry had grown, and while Dobby looked sickly and drawn, Harry was the picture of health.  He was also wearing nice, new clothes.  Ron pushed away that familiar twang of envy.

 

Adrianna turned to Dumbledore with barely concealed rage and Ron finally realized why.  “This,” she gestured to Dobby, “is what Harry looked like in June.  And _this_ is what he would look like now if he were still at the Dursleys.  Exactly _how_ did I do the wrong thing?”

 

Ron saw Hermione open her mouth to do just that.  Couldn’t she see Adrianna had a point?  A _good_ one.  Shite, the evidence was right there in front of them.  He squeezed her hand and whispered a harsh warning in her ear, “Hermione, not now.”  She didn’t relax, but she didn’t say anything, either.  He reckoned he was lucky that he got that.

          

Completely unfazed by Adrianna’s challenge Dumbledore smiled, saying, “Shall we, then.”  As if, they were off to an extremely pleasant feast.  He gestured to the dinning room and the double doors opened on their own.

 

Adrianna nodded in ascent, but was stopped when Harry snapped, “No!  You _aren’t_ going in there without me.  You don’t owe them an explanation.”

 

Somehow, the anger and passion in Harry’s voice comforted Ron.  So, his best mate was really back, then.  About bloody time.

 

“Harry, it's fine.”  Adrianna said calmly.

 

Harry shook his head, his jaw working.  “Not without me.”

 

“There is no reason for you to be in there.  We’re just going to be discussing where you’ve been.  You were there.  You know what happened.  You should catch up your friends.”

 

“I _want_ to go,” he hissed and while Ron understood Harry wanting to be involved, he couldn’t help feel a small twinge on hurt.  They hadn’t seen him all summer.  Didn’t Harry want to spend time with them?

 

Adrianna sighed, “Harry, nothing good can come from you hearing us argue about you.  Stay with your friends.”

 

“’Drana,” he entreated in a smaller voice.  “I don’t want them to …” Harry looking worried.  He was afraid of what the adults would do to Adrianna.  Selfishly, that realization made Ron feel quite a bit better.  

 

Dumbledore lead the adults into the dining room, leaving Harry glaring in their wake.  Watching the twins enter seemed to be the final straw for Hermione, who began to pull away, presumably to demand her own time to berate Adrianna.

 

Before she could speak, Ron pulled her, hard, into the corner and yanked her around to face him.  “You heard Harry,” he whispered harshly, not understanding why she didn’t see how upset he was.  She was _supposed_ to be the perceptive one.  “He doesn’t want anyone fighting with Adrianna.”

 

Hermione growled at him, “If _she_ thinks I’m going to sit back and let her take over his life—”

 

Damn, Hermione had a flare for the dramatic.  “If that’s what Harry wants, then that’s exactly what you’ll do.”

 

She shot him a look of betrayal and absolute fury, before wrenching her hand away.  Hermione ignored him completely as she went over to where Harry and Ginny stood.  

 

Great, now she was hacked off at him as well.  Bloody fantastic.  Ron was left to watch with dread as the last person entered the dining room and the door closed, leaving the three of them alone with Harry.  

  
  
  
  
  


* * * * *

  


           

Harry leaned his back against the now closed dining room doors.  He felt the Imperturbable Charm being placed, as it pushed him an inch away from the door.  Barely noticing Dobby announce that he was going to go downstairs and make breakfast, he slid down the door and sat on the musty carpet.

 

Great.  This was just fantastic.  And they wondered why he had been in no hurry to end his surprisingly peaceful adventure and face this … _inquisition_.  Harry looked around at three pairs of grave eyes.  He reckoned the welcome home celebration was going to be a bit later.  Or maybe it was already over.  

 

Part of him wished he were in the dining room just so that he didn’t have to face the hurt and accusatory looks out here.  It didn’t help, either, that Harry was guilty as sin.

 

Hermione was clearly the one to worry about.  She had that look in her eyes, the one she had right before she slapped Malfoy.  Did she want to hit him or Adrianna?  While he couldn’t accept the later, he wouldn’t mind the former.  Maybe if Harry just let her hit him, they could just move on and they wouldn’t have to talk about it.  That would be nice.

 

Though, at the moment, Hermione hitting Harry was unlikely given the way Ron was staring at her, as if he was ready to physically restrain her at any moment.  Actually, Ron hadn’t taken his eyes off of her for more than a few seconds and the entire time he had this look in his eyes … a strange look, almost as though he _wanted_ to touch her.  

 

In fact, Harry had noticed him touch Hermione several times.  On purpose, even.  Ron _never_ touched Hermione.  He avoided it like a red-hot cauldron, shrinking away when it happened accidentally, blushing and stammering.  Though, Harry tried his best not to think about it, he knew it wasn’t because Ron didn’t _want_ to touch her.  More like he wanted to touch her too much.  

 

And now, it looked as though the thing Harry had been dreading since fourth year was finally happening.  Well, he supposed he was lucky he got this long a reprieve.  Shite.  This is what Harry got for leaving his best friends alone for half the summer.

 

Yet, surprisingly, the jealousy and fear Harry usually felt over such revelations had lessened considerably.  He was different now, stronger, more secure.  Somehow, it was now tolerable for his best mates to have a connection that didn’t include him.  How could he make them understand that going to Japan had been necessary, for all of them?

 

Harry looked up at Ginny, who was the first of the three to drop to her knees beside him.  She had never been a part of their tight-nit group.  They had never let anyone in before.  It was just the three of them against the world.  So, it should have been strange to have her there with them at this moment.  In the past, Harry would have already been maneuvering to get Ron and Hermione alone.

 

But everything was changing now.   _They_ were changing.  Ron and Hermione were morphing into something … _more_.  And Harry ...  Harry had changed so much in the last year, in the last three months.  He couldn’t expect things between the three of them to stay the same.

 

Now, looking at Ginny’s soft smile and welcoming gaze, Harry found that he was grateful she was there.  Her cheerful calm drew him in.  Maybe their relationship could change as well.  He would certainly need another friend if Ron and Hermione were going where he was sure they were going and Ginny was one of the few people he knew that he reckoned might just be strong enough to handle his life.

 

Ron and Hermione finally came to sit as well.  It was Hermione, of course, who ultimately broke the silence.  “Well, are you going to tell us where you’ve been all summer or not?” she demanded, earning a glare from Ron.

 

She was angry, but he had expected that.  Harry took a deep breath.  “Um … we, er …” His mind kept wandering to what was going on behind that door, but he needed to say something before Hermione imploded.  Why was this so hard?

 

“We started in France,” he began carefully, “then Morocco and Belgium, briefly.  Um, then we spent that twelve weeks in Japan, well four your time, and the last week we were in America.”  He reckoned she probably wanted more than an itinerary, but he seemed to be too nervous to get his thoughts together.

     

Mrs. Weasley, Mad-Eye, and the others, what were they doing to Adrianna?  Harry felt a knot form in his abdomen.  They _couldn’t_ take her away from him.  He wouldn’t let them.

 

“Harry.”  He hadn’t realized that he had fallen into silence until Ginny spoke.  She was looking at him expectantly.  “Details, please.”  At least _she_ was understanding and reasonable.

 

“Oh, um … what do you want—?”

 

“You can start with _why_ ,” Hermione interrupted heatedly, arms crossed tightly over her chest.

 

“Hermione,” Ron hissed into her ear, his face probably the closest Harry had ever seen to hers.  Oh, _this_ was fun.

 

Harry bit the inside of his mouth to still the anxiety.  “Why I went?”

 

Hermione frowned and looked at him in a way that made him feel like an idiot.  “Why you didn’t tell us?”  There was hurt in her voice.  Fuck, even though he expected it, Harry hadn’t expected it to make him feel so sick.

 

Harry drew his knees up to his chest.  He couldn’t stand the look in Hermione’s eyes.  Resting his elbows on his knees, and his hands on the sides of his face, he kept his eyes on the carpet.  “I couldn’t stay at the Dursleys’,” he said, his words coming out more harsh and defensive than he had intended.  “I couldn’t.”

 

“Do you think we don’t know that!”  Hermione burst out.

 

“Hermione,” Ron whispered, but she shrugged off his restraining hand and Harry felt her hand close over his forearm.  It jolted him.

 

More softly, but just as passionately, Hermione argued, “Do you think we wanted you there?  We would have understood.  You could have told us, so we wouldn’t …” she broke off, pulling away, betrayal etched on her face.

 

Harry swallowed.  As bad as he felt that Hermione had worried needlessly about him, he _knew_ she wouldn’t have been fine with him going with Adrianna.  She would have fought it and ruined everything.  

 

This probably wasn’t the best time to point that out, though.  Instead, he deflected, “Well, Dumbledore wanted me at the Dursleys’.  He wouldn’t listen to Adrianna—”

 

“Well, then there must have been a good reason,” Hermione snapped.  “Don’t you think that if Dumbledore wanted—?”

 

“Yeah, there was a good reason,” Harry snapped back.   _This_ is what Hermione would have said if she had been told from the beginning.  She _wouldn’t_ have understood.  “Dumbledore thinks his way is the only way.  He thinks the only way to protect me is to bury me in a hole and shelter me.  I’m not a child anymore and that’s _not_ going to work.”  

 

Hermione flinched at his tone and Ron and Ginny held shocked expressions.  Harry had never shown anything but loyalty to Dumbledore and, even now, he felt guilty for his harsh words.  Hell, he felt guilty for even feeling this way.  His friends didn’t even know about the Blood Protection spell on the Dursley’s home.  It didn’t matter.  He was _never_ going back there.

 

“Harry,” Hermione said in a softer tone, one that implied he’d lost his mind.  “Dumbledore has protected you for your entire life.  You had known Adrianna for only days—”

 

“And whose fault is that, Hermione?”  Harry growled.  Then quieter, he said, “He’s _not_ my father.  He has no right to tell me to do anything, not outside of Hogwarts.”  His friends were shocked, but Harry could feel the anger growing inside him.  “All these people tell me what to do, order me around, have an opinion about what’s best for me, but no one has ever claimed me …”  

 

Harry clenched his teeth, his eyes stinging.  He did his best to continue without wavering.  “I know Sirius would have, if he could, but he couldn’t.  He was … kinda broken.  He couldn’t even take care of himself.  But I have family now.  Adrianna takes care of me and no one is taking her from me.   _No_ one,” he finished fervently.  If they couldn’t understand that, then to hell with them!

 

Harry’s speech must have taken the fight from Hermione, because she sort of drooped and refused to look at him.  Ginny was staring at him with wet glassy eyes.  Great, pity.  At least no one was yelling anymore, making him say things he’d rather keep to himself.

 

The silence stretched uncomfortably.  Ron finally came through, breaking the tension with a broad, if forced, smile.  “So, mate, tell us everything.  Morocco, Belgium, Japan.  Sounds wicked cool.”

 

What would they do without Ron?  Grateful, Harry leaned back and smiled to himself.  It really had been wicked cool.  Fucking amazing, really.  “Morocco and Belgium were just a couple of days.  Adrianna had some Auror business to finish up.  A few foreign dignitaries she had to meet, see if they were lying.  That sort of thing.”

 

Ginny sat up straighter, her eyes bright and inquisitive.  “She read their secrets?”

 

Harry shrugged.  “Mostly.”

 

“Wow, I didn’t realize that the American government was so active in other foreign ministry affairs,” Ginny said with genuine curiosity, making Hermione frown anew, probably upset by the mere idea.  Did she have to find fault in everything?  

 

“I don’t think it’s the Americans so much … I mean …” Actually, Harry wasn’t at all sure what he meant.  His cousin could be very closed lipped about her job.  “I kind of got the impression that Adrianna works for a more international group, not just the MIA.”  Confused frowns were on Harry’s friends' faces, but he didn’t have the answers.  And he wasn’t _about_ to admit that and give Hermione more ammunition.

 

“So, then we went to Japan,” he pressed on quickly.  “There I learned all about gaining control over my emotions, all these physical and mental techniques.  There was this thing, I reckon it translates to Dream Walking or Mind Walking ... it makes more sense in Japanese.”  

 

“So you speak Japanese now, do you?  Hermione said meanly.  Ron glared at her and grabbed her knee, digging his fingers in.

 

“No.  I …” Harry stammered, thrown off not only by Hermione’s … was Ron really touching her _knee_?  

 

“So, that’s how you learned Occlumency, right?”  Ron said with a good-natured smile, throwing Hermione a hopefully look.  If anything about Harry’s trip was going to win her over it was that he had learned Occlumency.  But the scowl on her face didn’t budge.

 

Harry swallowed his disappointment and answered, “Yeah, um … I learned to manipulate my thoughts and memories.  It’s all done on another plane of existence, so you know, the whole time thing.”  He closed his eyes, trying to get lost in the memory.  “It’s really powerful.  You confront the worst things in your life.  Then … it’s as though our emotions drive our magic and after the magic flows freely …” he drifted off, opening his eyes to see his friends staring back at him with odd expressions.

 

“So, right Occlumency,” Harry continued, clearing his throat.  Maybe if he tried something more concrete.  “While Mind Walking, someone would try to read me and I’d have to imagine walls forming in my mind.  Then they would appear, physically, and block the person out.  Now, the walls are just … _there_.”

 

“That’s great, Harry,” Ron said, without enthusiasm.  Harry had a sickening feeling.  This wasn’t going well.  He almost wished Hermione would start screaming again.

           

Maybe if he tried a less controversial topic.  “So, we left Japan at the end of July and Adrianna took me to meet her mum in America.  Aunt Kathy was fantastic.  She felt pretty guilty for me having to live with the Dursleys all those years.  ‘Drana told her about my hand-me-downs from Dudley and she got me a whole new wardrobe.  Then she insisted on taking me to an amusement park for my birthday ...”  

 

Harry’s knew he was rambling.  The anxiety produced by the frowns around him wasn’t helping.  Apparently, this _wasn’t_ a less controversial topic.

 

“What’s an amusement park?”  Ron asked.

 

“It’s a place where Muggles go on Holiday, Ron,” Hermione informed him coldly, her voice steadily rising in volume.  “It’s where Harry went to have _fun_.  While we were worried half to death, because he wouldn’t talk to anyone on his birthday, because he refused to leave the Dursleys, because he wouldn’t even open his presents, he was having _fun_.”

 

Harry felt like he had been slapped.  Suddenly, he wished he hadn’t come back.  He wished he were still in America where no one expected anything of him.  Where he didn’t keep hurting people.

 

Hermione took a deep breath, but it seemed she wasn’t finished.  “Harry, I can’t believe you could do this?  Why would you trust her more than us?  She could have _killed_ you and no one would have known.”

 

Something inside Harry snapped.  This went beyond what he deserved.  Adrianna _saved_ him!  Fury building, he yelled, “When are you going to trust _me_?  I _know_ Adrianna.  You should trust that when I say she wants what’s best for me, she wants what’s best for me.  More than _you_ , apparently.”  Hermione winced.  Shite, Harry went too far.  He didn’t mean that.  “Hermione, I—”

 

But before Harry could apologize, Hermione turned beet red and hissed, “How _dare_ —?”

 

Ron shot to his feet and grabbed her arm.  “Hermione, I need to talk to you.”  Unceremoniously, he dragged her to her feet and pulled her toward the stairs.

 

“Ron!” she protested in an outraged tone, fighting him.  When she looked back at Harry, gone was the fury, now there was only hurt.  Harry felt awful.  He hoped she could see that.

 

Ron kept pulling and when he turned to confront her head on, Hermione’s anger was back and this time it was directed at Ron.  Bloody hell, this was going to be the mother of all rows.  And it was all Harry’s fault.  Maybe they would have preferred it if he stayed in America, after all.  

 

At the bottom of the steps, Ron and Hermione stared at one another.  There were long moments of stubborn stand-off, until finally Hermione snapped, “Fine.”  Then with a flourish, she turned and she stomped up the stairs.

 

“We’ll be right back,” Ron called stonily.

 

Somehow, Harry doubted that.  “I reckon Hermione’s glad I’m home,” he muttered bitterly, as he watched them disappear up the steps.

 

“She’s _thrilled_ you’re home, Harry,” Ginny said firmly, making Harry flush and turn to look at her.  “We _all_ are.  Hermione was just really scared when we found out that the person we had been writing to all summer wasn’t you.  Even before that we … she was afraid.  You seemed so distant.”

 

Ginny voice was soft, her eyes were sad, and in thirty seconds she managed to fill Harry with more guilt than any of Hermione’s tirades.  He swallowed.  “I know.  I’m really sorry, Gin.  I don’t know what else to say.”  He really wished he did.  Harry didn’t want to fight with his friends.  Not when he hadn’t seen them in months.  Not ever, really.  He hated it.

 

“You have to understand,” Ginny entreated softly.  “When you were acting all strange and distant all summer, Hermione kinda blamed Adrianna.  We all did a bit.  We spent a lot of time hating her.”  She looked down shyly and then back up at him through lowered lashes.  There was something in that look that tugged at his insides.  Made him feel as though he should … what exactly?

 

“But Ginny, it’s not her fault.  I decided to go.  Be angry at _me_.”  He wanted her to understand.  He wanted her to accept his cousin.  He wasn’t sure why, but it meant a lot to him.

 

Ginny sighed despondently.  “How can we be angry at _you_?”  Harry almost laughed.  Hermione certainly wasn’t having trouble being angry at him.  But Ginny’s expression was so sincere …

 

“Look, I’m really sorry that I scared everyone, but I can’t be sorry I went.  I needed this, Ginny.  Adrianna helped me deal with Sirius’ death, to understand that it wasn’t my fault.  She made me learn Occlumency and now … _now_ , I’m not a danger to you anymore.  I can actually be with my friends without worrying that I’ll get you all killed.”  He took a deep breath.  “I need you to be able to trust Adrianna.”

 

That was probably what he should have said to Ron and Hermione.  Of course, _now_ he was able to find the words.  Maybe it was Ginny who made the difference.  She had this amazing, soft, yielding look, concerned and caring.  She was really quite pretty.  Harry had never noticed how pretty she was.  Strange.

 

“It’s going to be a tough sell,” she told him candidly.  “I mean, _I_ want to, Harry, but you have to … Harry, two days ago the Burrow was attacked.”

 

The bottom fell out of his stomach.  “What!”  He got up on his knees, his fists automatically tightening.  Harry had no … _fuck_!  “What happened!”  

 

Ginny gnawed on her lip.  “There were Death Eaters.  I was Stupefied, if Fred hadn’t come home that night … _anyway_ , the point is Hermione and I had notes, research we had done on Empaths and they took it all.  Along with a book from Hermione’s house.”

 

“Hermione’s house?”  Harry shook his head in disbelief, trying to digest it all.  His jaw clenched, anger filling him.  “Wait, you were Stupefied.  Are you ok?”

 

“I’m fine …” she trailed off with a smile and looked away.  It was an odd reaction.  

 

“What?” he asked.

 

Ginny shook her head.  “It’s just good to have the real Harry back.”  Harry felt his face heat up and he suddenly had great difficulty looking at her.  She hastily cleared her throat, saying, “But, yeah, they hit Hermione’s house as well.  When we figured out what was missing, Hermione was sure it was Adrianna who had arranged the attack.”

 

Harry scoffed.  “Adrianna was with me, she couldn’t have—”

 

“But we didn’t _know_ that, Harry.  What else were we to think—?”

 

“How about that Voldemort wants information on Adrianna,” Harry argued.  “She’s a target now as well.”  A target as well.  Because of him.  He pushed the thought aside.  Adrianna could take care of herself.  She could take care of herself.

 

“Yeah, that makes sense,” Ginny said softly, though Harry couldn’t tell if she meant it.

 

Now that Harry thought about it, he reckoned it did make _some_ sense for Hermione to blame Adrianna, after the way her cousin had left Hogwarts.  And if Hermione was attacked, then … oh God.  

 

Urgently, Harry asked, “Was Hermione or her parents at home when the Death Eaters—?”

 

“No, no,” Ginny reassured.  

 

Then a wicked smile came across her face.  It seemed extremely inappropriate.  Harry looked at her curiously.  What was she about?  “Ginny?”

 

Her eyes lit with amusement.  “Well,” she began, moving closer to him, and whispering conspiratorially, “after they found me, Mum went to Ron’s room and he was missing, so we all assumed he had been taken.”  

 

Ginny shook her head at what must have been a horrified expression on Harry’s face. “No, it’s all right.  I mean, if you wanted to punch him again for worrying us  that would be ok.  But …”  She giggled.  “Turns out, we found him the next morning at _Hermione’s_ holiday cottage.  Trying to sneak home.  He’d spent the night.  In her _room_.”

 

Harry’s jaw dropped.  In her room.  Ron snuck over to Hermione’s and slept in her bloody _room_.  What the hell had he missed?  And shite, he had thought he was ready for them to move in this direction, but fuck, they _shared_ a bed.  Well, room … but still.

 

Taking a deep breath, Harry managed to ask hesitantly, “So … they’re together, then?”  

 

Ginny rolled her eyes and shook her head.  “I don’t think so.  They’re far too thick for that.  At least Ron is … oh, I’m sorry, Harry.  Does this bother you?”  

 

He smiled.  Her concern was nice.  “No, I’m just surprised.  Not that they _you know_.  That it happened so fast.  I mean, after it went so slow for so long.  I’ve kinda accepted it as inevitable, though.”

 

Ginny shrugged, giving him an ironic smile.  “Well, I don’t think Ron’s made a similar discovery, so I doubt it will be all that fast after all.”  Well, that was good.  Harry needed time to get used to this.  

 

It occurred to him that he liked the way Ginny … _talked_.  It was interesting and smart and made him smile, made him comfortable.  Otherwise, he wouldn’t have said, “They’re different though, Ron and Hermione.”

 

She nodded.  “They think they’re being subtle, but they’re kinda—”

 

“—really focused on one another—”

 

“—and before they never used to—”

 

“—touch—”

 

“—or look at each other for too long—”

 

“—they’d get all flustered and start a fight—”

 

“—and now they can’t seem to stop themselves,” Ginny finished, breaking off in delighted giggles.

 

Harry grinned at her.  It was amazing how much better he felt.  Maybe Ron and Hermione dating wouldn’t be so bad if he had Ginny to make fun of them with.  For the first time, it felt really good to be home.  They smiled, stupidly, at each other for long moments before Ginny looked away shyly.

 

Harry straightened his legs and crossing them at the ankles.  “So, besides hating me and Adrianna and getting attacked by Death Eaters, how was your summer?”

 

Ginny laughed, moving to sit next to him, leaning against the door, as well.  She started telling her stories and Harry found himself relaxing more and more.  No, this wouldn’t be bad at all.

  
  
  


* * * * *

  
  


Hermione stomped up the stairs in front of Ron, fury building with each step.  Fury at sodding Adrianna who barged in and was now trying to take over their lives.  Fury at Harry for being so ruddy happy about the whole thing.  And _now_ , fury at Ron for being on _their_ side.  Couldn’t he ever take her side?  Just once?

 

Their best friend lies and tricks them, abandons them to go gallivanting around the world with a woman he had known less than one week, a woman who, for all they knew, could be plotting their deaths.

 

Then Harry comes home and he gets angry at her for not automatically trusting that _awful_ Adrianna.  After he left them alone for a month, assuming the worst, scared half to death when they found an imposter in his house and all the while he was at an amusement park!   An _amusement_ park!  Having the time of his life.  And, of _course_ , Ron takes their side.  Naturally.

 

Hermione stopped at the first floor landing, planning on entering the drawing room, but she felt Ron firmly push on her back.  “Keep going,” he said, close to her ear.  “I don’t want to be interrupted.”

 

A shiver ran through her, followed by a flash of warmth, as Hermione’s body became instantly hypersensitive to her surroundings.  His words brought entirely different kinds of thoughts to mind.  Thoughts that she knew he didn’t intend.

 

She had decided last night (It was last night wasn’t it?  The days seemed to blur.  It was three or four in the morning now.  Odd, she didn’t seem tired at all) to … well, to seduce Ron.  Sort of.  

 

The plan was to encourage a physical relationship in any way possible and then, along their strong bond of friendship, Ron wouldn’t be able to keep from falling in love with her.  Hopefully.  It was worth the risk, she reminded herself, becoming increasingly flushed and tingly.  

 

They were going somewhere where they wouldn’t be _interrupted_.  That would be nice.  Yes, privacy was good.  Ron led Hermione up to the fourth floor, to a small-unused bedroom.  They certainly weren’t likely to be found there.  Her heart pounded.  Her back burned where Ron touched it.  How was she going to do this again?  

 

She, uh, she needed to get him to kiss her again.  Awake this time.  It wouldn’t work if Hermione made the first move.  It had to be Ron.  He was both a stereotypical male and insecure in his masculinity.  He had to be in charge of this.  Well, he needed to _think_ he was at least.  So, all she needed to do is give him permission and, hopefully, his lust would take it from there.  He _was_ sixteen after all.

 

Permission to touch her without expectations of a relationship.  Oh God.  This was insane.   _No_.  No, it was all right.  The relationship _would_ come later.  When Ron was more … ready.  Hermione just had to have faith.  Oh dear.

 

When Ron closed the door to the room, Hermione didn’t think she was ever going to be able to breathe again, but then he turned and looked at her, arms crossed, jaw clenched, eyes shooting blue fire at her.  Oh right, they came here to _fight_ , not snog.

 

Hermione willed herself to remember all the reasons she was angry.  Adrianna.  Harry’s betrayal.  Ron taking their side.  She should be ashamed that her thoughts had drifted even for a second from these more important matters.  This wasn’t like her at all.

 

But all of that seemed so far away and Ron was so close and he was standing there in a pose of masculine dominance and it was making her weak in the knees.  When he crossed his arms like that his biceps bulged a bit, in that lovely gangly teenaged way.  

 

Only a few days ago she had slept on that bicep.  It felt so soft under her cheek and so strong under her hand.  Yesterday, Ron had thrown Dobby against the wall ...  and it had been wrong, naturally, but it had been really sexy as well.  Oh my.  This wasn’t what she was supposed to be thinking about.

 

“Are you going to say what’s on your mind or just give me the silent treatment?”  Ron demanded heatedly.

 

For a minute, Hermione didn’t understand.  All she could see was his lips, full but masculine … she’d had no idea they would feel so good.

 

“Fine,” Ron snapped.  “If you’re going to make me start … how about you tell me exactly what got into you down there, yelling at Harry?”

 

Hermione felt an immediate rise as Ron yelled at her.  Why was he attacking her when she …?  It was his fault she was distracted anyway, stupid git.  His gall was beyond comprehension.

 

First, he sided with Harry against her.  Then, he plays the domineering prat and yanks her away, for a _scolding_ of all things.  And _now,_ he has the nerve to distract her with his body and his plain ruddy attractiveness.  It really wasn’t fair and it made her right livid.  Really it did.

 

Hermione let herself be drawn into the blind passion of fury, glad for the confidence it afforded her.  “What’s got into _me_?  If you didn’t notice, _I_ was the only one making any kind of sense down there.”  

 

“Hermione,” Ron barked irritably, “Adrianna isn’t what you thought she was.  She really helped Harry, can’t you see that?”

 

He was _so_ naive.  “No, I can’t see that, because we don’t _know_ that!  There is no evidence!”

           

“Harry’s the evidence, Hermione.  He’s happy and healthy like we haven’t seen him in years, ever maybe.”

 

Hermione didn’t want to hear that.  There was something suspicious about Adrianna, she just _knew_ it.  And she _stole_ Harry from them.  “She has a spell on him.”

 

Ron rubbed his face in frustration.  “Hermione, you’re not thinking—”

 

Her eyes flashed.  “Rubbish!  My thinking is perfectly fine.  You’re the one that _woman_ has befuddled.”

           

“You’re just jealous!”

 

It was the worst possible thing he could have said.  Hermione felt herself turning bright red.  Why would he say that?  Was he attracted to Adrianna?  Did he think she was more exciting than Hermione?  Was she a threat?  Her stomach tied in knots.  Was Adrianna going to steal Ron from her as well?

 

Suddenly, tears were in her eyes and Hermione had the undeniable need to hurt Ron like he had hurt her.  “So, that’s the problem is it?  You’ve been thinking with your … with your _boy_ parts.”

 

Ron turned instantly red and sputtered, “My what?”

 

“That’s it, isn’t it?  You’re taking her side because you think she’s attractive!”  Hermione could feel herself becoming hysterical.  The disappointment she felt was shutting down all sense of reason.

 

“Hermione, you’re not making sense.”  

 

There was a desperate edge to his voice that she interpreted as guilt.  Her eyes burned.  “You think she’d more attractive than me!” she burst out, immediately regretting her words.  When had she become such a _girl_?  She was pitiable.

 

“That’s absurd!”  Ron screamed, his voice squeaky.  “I told you I think you’re beautiful.”  He stared at his shuffling feet.

 

He’s lying, Hermione thought.  That’s why Ron couldn’t look her in the eye.  As her hopes shattered so did the last remnants of control over her words.  “If that were true then you’d be able to kiss me while we’re awake!”

 

Hermione didn’t have time to reconsider her words.  The next thing she knew she was pushed up against the wall and could feel the entire length of Ron’s body pressed against her.  Gasping, she looked up into his eyes.  They had that glazed look again, except this time there was something predatory …

 

Hermione had less than a moment to contemplate the look.  His crushed his mouth against hers and there was no way she could keep her eyes open.  Ron devoured her.  What he lacked in finesse he more than made up for in passion.  She had one last thought before she gave herself over to responding with everything she had in her …

 

Thank heavens.

  
  


* * * * *

 


	15. Rooms

“So, there Mum was, standing in the twins’ room, with a pair of purple lace knickers in her hand, and Fred says to her, dead serious, ‘But Mum, we’re just holding them for Percy.  He collects them, didn’t you know?’”

 

Harry broke out into uproarious laughter, making it hard for Ginny to finish the story without giggling uncontrollably.  Taking deep breaths, she finished, “They were out and in their own flat in two days.  Mum _still_ can’t look Angelina in the eye.”

 

Harry doubled over in mirth, clutching at his sides.  Ginny’s laughter faded as she watched him.  She had never seen him this relaxed, this happy.  At least not with her.  He looked up at her with a smile that made her heart flip.  “Ginny, you are an absolutely _brilliant_ storyteller.”

 

Ginny smiled with pride and gave Harry her best mischievous grin.  “Better than Ron?”

 

He laughed again.  “Better than Ron.  But if you repeat that, I’ll deny it until the day I die.”

 

“It’s too late, Mr. Potter, I know your secret now.  If I want it to be known, it will be known.  I have my ways.”

 

“I’m sure you do.”  Harry looked at her with a lop-sided grin and intense green eyes.  It made Ginny giddy and more than a bit light-headed.  She wondered if she could actually survive a real friendship with Harry Potter.  Her mind might just melt into a pile of goo.

 

The double doors Ginny was leaning against gave way.  It was bloody well time.  They had been in there for _hours_.  The sun was already coming up.  But only Adrianna slipped out, closing the door behind her and she felt the Imperturbable Charm being placed again.  

“I see you haven’t gone far?” Adrianna remarked, glibly.

 

Harry shrugged and looked up at his cousin with a worried grimace.  “How’d it go?”

 

“The inquisition is over.  Now they’re ‘ _discussing’_ things privately,” Adrianna said, flopping onto the floor in front of them, sitting with her legs out stretched, and leaning back on her hands.  “Rather a waste of time on their part as I can still hear them, Imperturbable or no Imperturbable.  Clearly, they don’t get the whole Empath thing.”  She smiled ironically, before rubbing her forehead.  “Though, I _am_ glad to be out of there.”

 

“Was it awful?”  Harry asked, all traces of the laughter erased from his features.  Ginny could see his entire body tensing.  “They aren’t going to try and make you leave, are they?”

 

Adrianna smiled playfully.  “And why would they try to do that?”

 

Harry scoffed and rolled his eyes.  “Did you threaten them?”  Ginny’s eyes jerked to his.  Threaten them?  What would Adrianna threaten them with? 

 

“No.  There were no threats, on either side.  Stop worrying.”  But Harry just frowned at her and that was definitely worry creasing his brow.  Adrianna tapped his foot with hers.  “I can still _hear_ you,” she teased and Harry finally smiled.

 

Ah, the familiar loneliness of being isolated in a group of people.  Ginny knew it well.  It was right frightening, the easy closeness Harry and his cousin had developed, and so quickly.  So much had changed for him, would Ginny fit in better or worse now?

 

She noticed Adrianna smiling knowingly at her and tried to swallow her unease.  Would this woman share her thoughts with Harry?  If the Empath were really going to be around all the time now, how would any of them keep anything private, _secret_?

 

“So, where did Ron and Hermione go?” Adrianna asked, looking around curiously.

 

Harry shrugged, “They went up stairs a while ago.” 

 

A really long while ago, Ginny thought.  It was awfully strange that they would disappear so soon after Harry came home.  Judging by her frown, Adrianna agreed. 

 

“Hermione’s not very happy with me right now,” Harry said quietly, perhaps trying to explain her absence.

 

“She’ll come around,” Adrianna murmured, closing her eyes and furrowing her brow.  She clearly didn’t get how stubborn Hermione … was Adrianna spying on them?

 

“Where are they?”  Harry asked.

 

When Adrianna’s eyes snapped open, they held an amused light and her lips were twitching.  “Well, you can rest assured that Hermione isn’t avoiding you and the _delay_ upstairs is quite unrelated.”

 

Oh dear God, she _was_ spying and Ginny had never been more jealous of a power in her life.  Gasping, a delighted smile came over her face and Ginny bounced to her knees.  Was Adrianna really suggesting …?  “So, they’re snogging, then?” 

 

“ _Ginny_!” Harry burst out, blushing.  Such an innocent, her Harry.

 

“What?” Ginny demanded, enjoying his discomfort.  “Well, are they?’

 

Adrianna shook her head, trying not to laugh.  “I can’t go around broadcasting everyone’s thoughts and feelings.  That would cause chaos.”  Ginny frowned in disappointment.  Though, she had to wonder if Harry’s cousin was really responding to her earlier thoughts.  She probably was.

 

Harry sighed.  “So, we don’t get to sit here while you tell us what Dumbledore and the others are talking about?”

 

“Nope,” Adrianna said firmly.  “But mostly because I don’t even want to know what they are talking _or_ thinking about.  I’ve had enough.  My head can’t take any more.”

 

Well, at least it didn’t appear Adrianna wouldn’t discussing the attraction Ginny felt for Harry _with_ Harry.  And it seemed Ginny wouldn’t be learning anything more today, either.  Suddenly, exhaustion hit her.  “We should probably go to sleep,” she murmured.

 

Harry shook his head.  “I’m too agitated to sleep.”  He looked at his cousin.  “I don’t think I can sleep in this house until we—”

 

“Of course.  Just let me send out those letters to the Ministry and change Dobby back.  He’s creeping me out.”

 

  1.   Besides feeling completely pushed aside, now, Ginny had no bloody clue _what_ they were talking about.  Annoyance and envy turned her stomach sour.  The rush she had felt from having Harry’s undivided attention was fading quickly.



 

“We can start downstairs then,” Harry said.  “Dobby’s down there and there’s a perch for the owls.”  Adrianna nodded, standing. 

 

Ignored and forgotten.  Bitter and annoyed.  It was the story of Ginny’s life.  She waited for the inevitable dismissal.  She was getting bloody sick of it.  What would happen if she refused to go?

 

“Come on, Ginny.  Let’s get some breakfast,” Adrianna said.  It wasn’t necessarily a command, but it was said a bit more firmly than the average _suggestion_.  Ginny looked up at her extended hand and expectant expression.  It almost seemed to be a challenge.

 

Ginny swallowed, hesitating.  This _was_ the witch she hated just yesterday.  But what could be gained from rejecting her offering?  Other than but Harry’s anger and her own isolation?  Ginny placed her hand in the older woman’s and allowed her to help her up.  To Adrianna’s credit, she did not smile or acknowledge her triumph in any way.

 

Once downstairs, Harry greeted Hedwig, placating her with biscuits before sending her off with a stack of letters.  Adrianna reversed the Polyjuice potion and, thankfully, Dobby returned to his former self.  The haunting visage of the worn and malnourished Harry was already fading from memory.  All the while, Ginny couldn’t help but feel that they were preparing for something and the fact that she didn’t know what it was filled her with apprehension. 

 

When a newly restored Dobby came bounding over to place heaping breakfast plates in front of them, Ginny forced herself to at least _appear_ to be eating, though the butterflies in her stomach protested every bite.

 

Ginny watched Harry out of the corner of her eye as he ate ravenously, ate like she hadn’t seen him eat in months.  She took in his handsome profile.  It was far from the sickly, drawn Harry of before.  This is how he _should_ look.

 

Before she knew it, her companions had cleared their plates and Adrianna was asking, “Ready?”

 

Ginny panicked.  Unable to take it for one more minute, she burst out, “Ready for _what_?”

 

Harry and Adrianna’s faces were solemn as they exchanged glances.  Then Harry swallowed.  Looking down, he said in a muffled voice, “Ready to talk about Sirius.”          

 

Ginny’s stomach plummeted as all the air in his lungs left in a whoosh.  She hadn’t expected _that_.  Fear, anxiety, and sadness filled her.  They had avoided this topic all summer long. Worrying about Harry had allowed Ginny to avoid thinking about how _she_ felt about Sirius’ death.  Oh God, she didn’t want to do this.  She didn’t want to _know_ how she felt about his death.

 

When Ginny’s eyes were finally able to focus again, she found Harry’s full intensity directed at her.  It wasn’t so fun now.  “You don’t have to,” he said softly, almost apologetically.  “I mean—”

 

Adrianna interrupted, “Ginny, you know how sometimes when you enter a room, a memory hits you so hard it’s like a punch to the gut?”

 

Surprised, Ginny nodded without thinking.  Unbidden, memories, places flashed through her mind.  She still couldn’t walk by Moaning Myrtle’s Lavatory without … on a bad day, Ginny might walk twenty minutes out of her way just to avoid it.

 

“We’re going to take away the house’s power to do that,” Adrianna explained.

   

Ginny’s jaw dropped.  “You can do _that_?  With magic?”

 

Adrianna smiled, “Not exactly.  I don’t recommend mixing magic and emotions.  It’s never pretty.”  Ginny’s brow furrowed.  Wasn’t that what Empathy was?  Wasn’t that what _Adrianna_ was, a breathing mixture of magic and emotions. 

 

Ginny shook off the thought.  It was far too complex a concept to deal with on no sleep.  Ginny waited for Adrianna to continue, but of course, she didn’t.  No, that would be too easy, to just _explain_ how she was planning on completing this monumental task. 

 

“Then what are you going to do?” Ginny bit out testily.

 

Adrianna’s smile only widened.  Ginny was _so_ glad that she could amuse her.  “We’re going to go from room to room,” Adrianna explained, “telling every story you can think of about Sirius.  The room can’t force a memory from you, if it has already been given freely.”

 

Bloody hell.  If that didn’t sound like the most painful process _ever_.  Ginny didn’t want to _give_ anything.  Especially not in front of Harry and Adrianna.

 

“You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to,” Harry offered softly, making Ginny wonder if _he_ had learned to read minds while in Japan.  _That_ was a distressing thought.

 

“Ginny, your expressions aren’t that hard to read,” Adrianna stated dryly and Ginny flushed, ashamed that she had forgotten to moderate herself.  “Just listen,” Adrianna insisted.  “It will help.”

 

It was going make her sick, that’s what it was going to do, but somehow Ginny couldn’t muster the strength to protest.  When Adrianna nodded to Harry to begin, Ginny to feel a new layer of uncomfortableness, like she was intruding, which was odd, since she usually enjoyed that. 

 

As Harry talked Ginny couldn’t help but think it was odd being privy to the secret world of Harry Potter.  After all this time of dreaming of just that, even the most mundane story seemed intimate.  It was voyeuristic.  And fascinating.  She let herself get lost in the narrative.  It was all so very sad.

 

Harry started mildly enough, with the first time he had been with Sirius in this kitchen.  They all smiled as he talked about how the twins had levitated the stew and sent it flying.  Harry talked with gratitude about how Sirius had stood up to Mrs. Weasley and insisted that he be told about Voldemort.  Ginny remembered.  She had been the only one banished that night.

 

A dozen anecdotes followed.  Sirius making fun of Mundungus, Sirius teasing Remus, Sirius growling at Snape, Sirius moping at not being able to leave the house and properly join the fight … he had properly joined the fight in the end.  With this thought, Ginny struggled to fight back tears.

 

Sirius’s favorite diner was lamb and his favorite desert blackberry cobbler.  Ginny hadn’t known that, but she _had_ known about his weakness for heavy red wine. 

 

Harry’s final tale didn’t include Sirius at all, but it broke her heart all the more.  He told the story of when he had Fire Called Grimmauld Place to talk to Sirius and gotten Kreacher, instead.  It had been the elf’s betrayal that sent them to the Department of Mysteries and led to Sirius’ death.  Ginny had stood guard while Harry did this, never thinking to protest.  Fat lot of help she’d been.  No wonder no one included her. 

 

As Harry told this tale, his jaw clenched and his eyes glistened.  Ginny again felt she was intruding.  Or maybe she just didn’t want to see her girlhood hero cry.  Finally, Harry fell silent and Ginny became aware of the now cold food that still sat in front of her.  It turned her stomach and she pushed it away. 

 

“Gin, do you want—” Harry began.  She shook her head vigorously.  No, no, and no, again, to _whatever_ they were asking.  Harry nodded, accepting the generic answer.

 

“Should we more to the next room?” Adrianna asked.  Without waiting for an answer she began up the stairs and Ginny followed.  It took her a moment to realize that Harry wasn’t behind her.  Looking back she found him standing in the middle of the room, staring distractedly.  For a moment, he looked like the Harry of before, the Harry of after The Department of Mysteries. 

 

His cousin went back to place an arm around his shoulders and Harry closed his eyes, leaning into her.  Standing there like that their resemblance was striking.  They looked like siblings.  Brother and sister, who had known each other their entire lives.  Ginny didn’t know how to feel about that.

 

Together, they made their way up the stairs, Ginny following at a distance.  They skipped the ground floor and Ginny’s eyes lingered on the closed dining room door as she climbed the steps.  They spent a few minutes in Ginny and Hermione’s room, but though Harry had spent a lot of time there, Sirius hadn’t, so they moved on quickly.

 

Across the hall, they entered the large drawing room and Ginny felt that assault of memories described earlier.  A heavy weight settled upon her and she had to concentrate to breathe properly.  She wasn’t sure she wanted to play this game anymore.

 

Harry started his stories with Christmastime, when Sirius had been light and happy.  But it wasn’t a light and happy time for the Weasley’s.  Christmas reminded Ginny of her father being attacked and how frightened she had been and how hard she tried to hide it.  Vulnerability was something she put a lot of energy into concealing.  Maybe because she only ever received teasing or coddling as a result, two things she despised.

 

One night, Ginny had snuck into this very room to cry in the corner.  Sirius had been the one to find her.  He simply sat next to her until Ginny was all cried out.  He never teased, never pressed.  In fact, she couldn’t remember him saying anything.  She _did_ remember feeling incredibly comforted and that he never once mentioned it again.  She …

 

One minute, Ginny was under delicate, but firm control and the next, she was sobbing so hard she couldn’t stand.  She felt an arm come around her, supporting her, guiding her, until she was sitting on the sofa.  It took her a minute to realize it was Adrianna supporting her, but by then she didn’t have the strength to pull away. 

 

Ginny wanted to feel angry, invaded.  Who the hell did Adrianna think she was?  And why was Ginny leaning on her shoulder, burying her face there as she cried?  What the hell was wrong with her?

 

She looked up to see Harry standing in front of her and she swiped away her tears, furious with herself for her display.  “I’m sorry,” she ground out, bitterly.  Why were they doing this?  Stealing all her defenses?

 

Harry fell to his knees.  “Gin, please … don’t be sorry …” His voice was thick and hoarse.  He broke off and looked at the ceiling, seeming to be struggling with his own emotions.

 

“Personally,” Adrianna said in a light tone that blatantly contradicted the mood in the room, reaching out and smoothing away Harry’s fringe, “I love a good cry.  Leaves a lovely … purified feeling, of sorts.  Don’t you think?”

 

Whether she intended it to or not, the words caused the last drop of resistance to flee Ginny’s body.  All her air left and tears followed in a deluge.  She sobbed and sobbed as she hadn’t allowed herself to do since she was a child.  Time became meaningless.

 

At some point, Ginny’s head dropped back onto Adrianna’s shoulder.  Later, Harry must have buried his eyes in their joined hands, because, somehow, Ginny’s hands were wet with his tears. 

 

 

 

 

* * * * *

 

 

 

 

Ron was drowning.  Willingly, happily _drowning._  And there was nothing he could do to stop it.  He had somehow found the strength to kiss Hermione and now he would never find the strength to stop.

 

He couldn’t even control what he was doing.  Ron was afraid that he might be hurting her, he was kissing her so hard, his mouth sucking, nipping, _devouring_ Hermione as though she were the only food he had in months.  He knew that there was no skill in his kiss and he should be ashamed, but he couldn’t pull back.  His mind was numb with sensation, his body on fire.

 

Any will Ron had left, he used to keep one hand firmly placed on the wall behind them, maintaining their balance, but primarily keeping his hand from becoming … disrespectful.  He didn’t want to make Hermione feel cheep.  She was too important.  She deserved more than this, than him, than this crazed mass of teenaged lust who couldn’t even control himself for minutes when he was around her.

 

But Hermione’s lips were moving beneath his with equal fervor and it was making Ron dizzy.  Her hands were clutching his shoulders and Ron knew she was on her toes to meet his lips, but even so, his neck and his back were bent uncomfortably.   

 

More than anything, Ron wanted to grab her delightful little arse and lift her against him, but he forced himself not to.  The hand buried in Hermione’s curls flexed with the effort to stay where it was.  He tilted her head to one side, improving the angle.  He felt the undeniable need to taste her, _really_ taste her.  For long moments he fought it, but the need was too much and he was far too weak.

 

He planned to do it tentatively, make sure Hermione was ok with it, but somehow he just aligned his lips with hers and forced them open.  Ron was amazed at how easily they parted.  Again, he paused, hesitating, worried that he might bruise her with the pressure.

 

Hermione moaned and his knees buckled, setting Ron into motion.  He swallowed the sound and slid his tongue into her mouth.  It was the most amazing thing.  Her taste was completely unique, entirely Hermione.  It was instantly his favorite taste in the world. 

 

Ron was addicted to her.  Five seconds and he was addicted.  From that moment on, he was Hermione’s to do as she wished, use him for as long as she pleased and discard him when she was done.  It didn’t matter.  He’d do _anything_ to just keep kissing her. 

 

Hermione slumped against him and Ron groaned as gravity pulled her lips from his.  Her head fell against his chest and he could hear her gasping for breath.  Or maybe that was him.  He cradled her head against him, willing her not to hate him, as his own forehead fell against the wall behind her.  He squeezed his eyes tightly shut, waiting for his body to function normally again.

 

It was then that Ron realized that the full length of his body was pressed against her, more specifically, the part of him that most betrayed what his pathetic, perverted body really wanted from her.  He was so hard and alive with sensation that he could feel the softness of Hermione’s belly through his constricting jeans.

 

He imagined her horrified expression as she realized what was going on.  She’d call him a pig and … Ron finally found the strength to take a step back and break contact.  The movement caused Hermione to look up and meet his eyes.  The visual contact was jolting and he felt a not altogether unpleasant tug in his stomach. 

 

Her lips were red and swollen and Ron mentally berated himself.  He _had_ been too rough.  Her cheeks were the most fantastic shade of pink and her eyes … warm chocolate.  He was drowning again.  He felt himself pulled toward her, drawn by an invisible force.

 

“Ron,” Hermione breathed.  It was the first word spoken in what seemed like forever.  It jerked him back to reality.

 

His hand dropped from her hair and he swallowed, stepping back.  Hermione clutched his shirt, keeping him from going too far.  Searching her face, Ron whispered, “I’m sorry,”  the words falling out of his mouth without thought.

 

Hermione’s face dropped, but her voice was husky when she asked, “For kissing me?”

 

Shite, how could he be sorry for _that_?  It was the single best moment in his young life.  Ron managed to shake his head, sputtering, “For being rough.  For hurting you.”  His voice cracked.  Right manly, that was.

 

Her hand reached up and cradled his cheek.  “Don’t be sorry … I …” Then in a tiny voice Hermione admitted, “I liked it.”

 

Ron had died.  Died and gone to the great beyond, because there was no way this was really happening.  Words failed him completely as Hermione searched his face with a familiar, contemplative expression.

 

Taking his hand, she commanded gently, “C ‘mere.”  Hermione’s smile was encouraging as she led him to the old, moth-ridden bed and sat beside him.

 

Ron purposely fixed his gaze ahead, pleading with his body, begging it to settle down.  He was grateful for the confining, painful jeans.  The discomfort was worth it if he could keep his humiliation from Hermione.  Didn’t she understand how dangerous it was to be on a _bed_ with him right now?

 

“Ron?”

 

Oh, shite, she wanted to talk.  “Hmm,” Ron responded, with growing anxiety.

 

Hermione took a moment.  She seemed to be gathering her courage.  “Do you remember the other night?  I know it was an unusual situation, but … that was my first kiss, you know.”

 

His hand flexed involuntarily in hers.  Self-loathing filled him.  It was her first kiss and Ron _stole_ it.  She deserved better, better than a selfish prick who was filled with pride and possessiveness because he was her _first_.  No one else could ever have that.

 

Ron nodded and swallowed through a thick throat.  He said the only thing that he thought might be even remotely comforting, “Mine, too.”

 

Ron could feel Hermione’s gaze on his face, but knew that if he looked at her he was done for.  He wished he had the strength to let go of her hand.

 

“Um … did you enjoy it?” Hermione asked hesitantly.

 

Ron’s unintentional laugh had a hysterical edge to it.  “Yeah.  Yeah, I _enjoyed_ it.”  Definitely, the understatement of the century.

 

“So, I was sort of wondering if you’d … um … .maybe like to … er … keep doing it.”

 

Ron choked.  His eyes flew to her face.  Hermione _hadn’t_ just said what he thought she said.  She couldn’t have.  Wide-eyed, he sputtered for several moments before he finally managed to make words come out.  Well, it was only one word, actually.  “ _What_?”

 

Hermione’s confidence appeared to waver and she bit her lip, which was a right brilliant strategy, really, if she wanted to get him to do, well, _anything_.  She bravely kept her eyes aligned with his, asking in an amazingly even voice, “I wondered if you’d like to practice with me?”

 

“ _Practice_?”  It wasn’t very manly to faint, was it? 

 

“Mmhm.  Seeing as neither of us have much experience, I thought that we might be able to use the practice.  Um … most kids at school know loads more than I do and I … I, eh … we trust each other and we feel comfortable around each other.  So, I think it’s only the logical choice.  I mean, practice _is_ important.”

 

Had she gone mad?  Was this _really_ Hermione Granger?  Then again who else would say, “It’s only the logical choice.”  Fuck, was she actually suggesting that they _study_ kissing.  She was bloody fantastic. 

 

When Ron didn’t immediately respond, Hermione pressed on, “I mean, if you’re not attracted to me, I understand.”  She seemed to take his laugh of disbelief as encouragement.  “But we do seem to … work well together.”

 

Did they ever.  Why was she doing this?  Didn’t Hermione want more?  Didn’t she want to “Practice” with someone she was dating?  That’s what she deserved.  If she wanted to continue snogging, Ron expected … well, her to demand a relationship.

 

Maybe Hermione understood the awful truth.  Ron wasn’t good enough to date her … but there would be little else available for the rest of the summer.  Shaking away that extremely painful thought, he reprimanded himself.  Just agree, idiot.  It was the chance of a lifetime.  He got permission to snog the girl he fancied, without strings.  There’d be none of that boyfriend stuff that he knew he’d just bollocks up, sooner rather than later. 

 

“Um, ok,” Ron managed, very articulately, he might add.

 

Hermione’s eyes brightened, making her even more beautiful.  “Ok?” she repeated hopefully.

 

Ron nodded, smiling back.  “Yeah, I’d … I’d really love to Practice with you.”  Hermione smiled brightly at him and he knew he was grinning back like a fool.  Yeah, this was going to be brilliant.  Especially if she kept smiling like that.

 

After long minutes, Hermione nervously said, “Well then … um, I suppose we should get back to Harry …”

 

Harry … Harry who?  _Harry_!  Bloody hell, Ron had forgotten all about Harry.  Some friend he was.

 

As Hermione started to get up, Ron tightened his grip on her hand.  As much as he didn’t want to break whatever extremely pleasant spell they were under, they couldn’t go downstairs without settling a few things.  Looking at Hermione, he carefully said, “Um, Hermione.  About Harry ... and Adrianna.”

 

“Oh, right.”  Hermione fell back on the bed and stared pensively ahead.  “Well, um, I suppose we need to come to a compromise.”

 

“Compromise?” Ron asked, dumbly.  He wondered if he had become completely addled, because all he could seem to do is repeat what Hermione said.

 

She nodded.  “Well, how about I promise that I’ll try and be open-minded about Adrianna, if you agree that there might be more to her than meets the eye?”  Hermione flicked a nervous glance at him.

 

Ron was in awe of her.  Where was the crazy woman he walked up the stairs with?  When he found his voice, he told her, “You are the most amazing person, you know that?”

 

Hermione blushed and gave him a watery smile.  “Oh, Ron.”  Then she threw herself into his arms again and Ron hugged her tightly, savoring the moment.  Who knew Hermione would fancy all this mushy stuff?

 

The hug went on for way too long to be interpreted as friendly.  But, unfortunately, Hermione _did_ pull away before they could get started on _Practice_ , which was a shame, really.  No time like the present.  Isn’t that what she always said?  She wasn’t the most brilliant witch of her age for nothing.

 

But instead, Hermione stood up.  “I reckon we should, you know, get back to the others.”

 

There was a painful throb in his jeans that thought otherwise.  “Uh, you just go ahead.  Give me a few minutes.  I’ll be right down.”

 

She nodded anxiously and he silently pleaded with her to not ask any questions.  As Hermione walked to the door, Ron’s eyes traveled her form.  Fuck, but her curves got more luscious every day and he loved how wild he had made her hair during their snogging.

 

Before she could open the door, Ron called in a choked voice, “Hermione.”  She looked back at him with an uneasy expression.  “Do you think we could, er, start Practicing _soon_?”

 

Her smile blinded him.  In a shy, but seductive voice, she said, “I think that can be arranged.”  She slipped out of the door.

 

Ron fell back on the bed.  Holy, fucking shite!  Was he dreaming?  He went over the events of the past hour in his head, until the ache became unbearable.  Right, he had stayed behind for a reason.

 

Taking a deep breath, Ron attempted to call to mind every horrific image he could think of, but it was no use.  No image stayed in his mind for more than a split second.  All he could think about was _her_.  From potions class to spiders, nothing made the least bit of difference to his current condition.

 

Sighing, Ron locked the door and lay back down on the bed.  Unzipping his jeans, he let the images of Hermione flow.  This time he didn’t need a complicated fantasy.  This time all it took was the memory of her saying shyly, “I wondered if you’d like to Practice with me?”

 

 

 

 

* * * * *

 

 

 

 

Harry leaned his cheek against Ginny’s knee, feeling lulled by the lilting tones of her voice.  Once Ginny started talking, it seemed she couldn’t stop.  She really was a natural storyteller.  Even the saddest tale she told with a dark, humorous edge that had him laughing through his tears.

 

He looked up to see her sitting with her head against Adrianna’s shoulder and Harry felt his heart expand.  Ginny couldn’t possibly understand what it meant to him for her to let her guard down around his cousin.  Something inside him moved at the sight.

 

“What, in the name of all things magical, is going on in here?”  The demand came from the doorway where Mrs. Weasley stood, hands on hips, her eyes shooting ice at Ginny’s headrest.  The sight of her only daughter, tearstained and limp, consorting with the _interloper_ , appeared to be more than she could handle.

 

Harry felt a wave of fear, mixed with protectiveness.  He would not allow her to ruin this.  _No one_ was going to ruin this.  “We’re just talking about Sirius,” he said calmly, proud of the even tone of his voice. 

 

Mrs. Weasley’s eyes widened, then narrowed, shock turning to accusation as she glared at Adrianna.  “Well, I think you’ve had quite enough.  I won’t have these children upset any further.”

 

Adrianna shook her head slowly.  “They’re already upset.  Ignoring is not protecting.  They _need_ to talk.”  She used her firm, utterly confident tone.  Harry couldn’t help but wonder if that was the best choice when dealing with Mrs. Weasley.

 

Ginny’s mother turned four kinds of read.  Obviously it was not.  “When you’re under my roof—”

           

“I’ll obey your rules, but we’re _not_ under _your_ roof.”  This time Adrianna’s tone held a practiced calm, one that required tremendous self-discipline, as Harry had learned his cousin was not by nature a calm individual.  But her words and expression only incited Mrs. Weasley to new levels of fury and Harry watched the stand off between them with increasing unease.

 

Ginny ended the stalemate by raising her head defiantly, the gesture only somewhat spoiled by her sniffle.  “I _want_ to talk about Sirius.  Both of us do,” she said defiantly, gesturing toward Harry.  “It feels good.”

 

“Then by all means, we should talk about it.  Isn’t that right, Molly?” Mr. Weasley said pointedly, entering the room from behind his wife.  He took her arm gently, leading her into the room and onto a sofa across the room from the others.

 

Mrs. Weasley sputtered and looked at her husband as if he had just betrayed her in the worst possible fashion.  But she sat.  Ramrod stiff and unhappy, she sat and stayed quiet.

 

Harry looked up at his cousin’s carefully arranged features.  There were cracks in them.  Adrianna wasn’t responding to the Weasleys in the way he expected.  She swallowed before asking Arthur, “Do you have a story to tell about Sirius?”

 

He smiled in his easy, kind way.  “Indeed, I do.  Indeed, I do.”

 

 

 

 

 

                                                            * * * * *

 

 

 

 

As Hermione stepped out into the hallway and closed the door to the fourth floor bedroom, she paused, her hand frozen on the doorknob.  All the breath left her body, her legs turned to mush, and she leaned back against the closed door.  She wasn’t sure why Ron had chosen to stay behind, but she was grateful for it.  She needed a minute to recuperate.

 

Heavens!  Where had _that_ come from?  Practice?  Really!  It was either a stroke of genius or pure insanity.  Probably both.  But it worked perfectly, just the thing Hermione was looking for.  Of course, it did make her seem a bit of a slag.  What if she ruined her chances for a real relationship because he lost all respect for her?

 

Hermione was starting to hyperventilate when she told herself to _stop_.  She was being ridiculous.  She just needed to slow down.  They were just talking about a few Practice kisses.  There was nothing slutty or slaggish about kissing.

 

Though it _had_ felt that way, the kisses they had shared.  They were so much more than Hermione had expected.  She had expected kissing to be soft, sweet, kind of awkward … affectionate, maybe.  She hadn’t expected the heat, the rush, the odd liquid sensations that invaded her body.

 

 _This_ must be what people made such a fuss over.  Hermione had always presumed that they were being silly and melodramatic, but maybe there was more to it than she knew.  Maybe?  Ha!  This was _definitely_ more than she had bargained for. _What_ was she getting herself into?

 

Before, Hermione fancied that she knew quite a lot about human sexuality.  Well, not a _lot_.  Enough.  She _had_ read biology books on the subject.  Slot A, tab B, and all that.  It seemed quite uncomfortable, really.  Though, it must be pleasurable for the man and she’d heard vague references that it can be pleasurable to the woman as well.  Even though, Hermione couldn’t imagine how that could be.

 

She had done her research and been satisfied.  When her mother asked her if she had any questions, Hermione had honestly answered, “No.”  Consequently, she had never actually had a _conversation_ about sex … or boys … or kissing.

 

Well, that wasn’t true.  She and Ginny had talked about boys and kissing, but nothing that had prepared her for _this._ Really, in how much detail could she go into with the object for her crush’s _sister_.  And who else was she to talk to?  Harry?  Ron? 

 

Honestly, she hadn’t really seen why she _should_ talk about it?  There were so many more important things to talk about, to read about, to learn about.  It wasn’t as though any boy was going to want to do _that_ with her.  Not any time soon.  Well, maybe Viktor, but, really, yuck. 

 

So, it just wasn’t an issue.  Hermione had been pining after Ron in one form or another for so long and things were moving so slowly, she didn’t need to … she had been fine with that.  Really, truly.

 

Hermione had her fantasies, but even then, all she had really dreamed about was some hand holding, a tender kiss, a declaration in front of the entire school of Ron’s undying love for her.  Maybe a cute little cottage with a multitude of redheaded babies.  In the future, of course, the far, _far_ distant future. 

 

But there was very little physical about her daydreams about Ron.  Though lately, things _had_ been shifting, as if Hermione’s body knew something that her mind didn’t.  It was reacting instinctively to Ron, even in her dreams, and it was downright terrifying. 

 

Good God.  She had been completely delusional!  Nothing more to _know_!  It wasn’t _important_! 

 

Now, she was going in blind.  Hermione had naively instigated a physical relationship, not knowing what that might entail.  Did she really think she could keep it from getting out of hand?  Did she even know what that _meant_?  She certainly hadn’t had a clue about kissing.

 

Well, that _was_ what the Practice was for.  Hermione giggled hysterically, covering her mouth with both hands.  She forced herself to start walking, so she wouldn’t alert Ron to the fact that she had somehow got stuck outside the door.

 

Slipping down the stairs, Hermione nervously reached up to smooth her hair and froze.  Holy heavens, it was a rat’s nest.  She hurried down the stairs and quickly shut herself in the third floor lavatory.  Hermione gasped in horror at the image in the mirror.  She looked like a _complete_ slag.  Everyone was going to know _exactly_ what she and Ron had been doing.

 

Hermione’s already uncontrollable hair was twice as big as usual, sticking up every which way after having Ron’s rough hands run through it.  She tried to comb it with her fingers and was horrified to find it one big knot. 

 

But at least hair could be brushed.  Hermione had no idea what she was going to do about her lips, which had swollen to at least _twice_ the normal size.  Lightly placing her fingertips on them, she found they were tender to the touch as well.

 

Staring at the physical evidence of her indiscretion, Hermione felt herself tremble.  This seduction thing was a whole lot more complicated than she had anticipated.  Closing her eyes, she remembered the intoxicating feel of his kisses.  A _whole_ lot more.  Even _that_ may be a bit of understatement.

 

She had been so naïve.  So stupid.  Should she back out now?  Before things got of hand?  Before she completely lost control of the situation.  Hermione never did anything without researching it completely.  Until now.

 

But if Hermione told Ron she had changed her mind _now_ … he’d been so excited and his ego was so fragile.  It would just ruin _everything_.  And after Ron had been so enthusiastic about the plan.    

 

Hermione giggled again, thinking she really had gone as mental as Ron had been accusing her of being all these years.  There she was, locked in the lavatory, looking like a bedlam escapee, laughing to herself.  Dear lord.

 

They were awfully pleasant though, the kisses.  Though intense.  Really, _really_ intense.  It gave her this feeling of losing control.  It was terrifying.  But the strange part was how amazing the loss of restraint felt, knowing that Ron was losing control as well, that it was just the two of them in the whirlwind.  He was all that stood between Hermione and the abyss.  She wondered what it was about the abyss that was so enticing.

 

Hermione gathered cold water in her hands and held it to her lips, willing the swelling to subside, then drinking it greedily, surprised at how parched she was.  She cursed her inability to use magic.  An anti-swelling charm would be rather handy right now.

 

With wet hands, she painstakingly and pain _fully_ combed through the tangles in her hair.  It took forever and left it frizzier and larger than it had ever been.  Moaning with frustration, Hermione used liberal amounts of water to slick it down, until finally … _great_ , now she looked like drowned cat.  Desperate, Hermione pulled her hair back and tied it in a knot at the top of her head.  Immediately, pieces started to fall out.  She was an utter mess. 

 

Hermione had never cared too much about her appearance.  Until now, that was.  Well, there was nothing more she could do.  And as temping as hiding up here forever was, they’d already left Harry for …

 

Oh God.  Harry.  How long had it been?  He must be furious at them.  He was _already_ furious at _her_.  Hermione had been horrible, completely losing her temper.  She knew how sensitive Harry was.  He wasn’t Ron, who she could row with at will.  A fight with Harry was crushing to him, but she’d started one anyway.  What was wrong with her?

 

She hurried out the door and down the stairs.  Hermione was heading for the foyer when she heard voices coming from the drawing room. 

 

Well, she thought, when she peered inside, she needn’t have worried about Harry being left alone, at least.  The room was filled with people.  Almost everyone was there except Ron and Dumbledore.  Harry sat on the floor leaning against Adrianna’s knees and Ginny sat next to her ... her head on his cousin’s shoulder. 

 

The little traitor.  What was Ginny doing sitting there so comfortably?  Then Hermione listened and realized that _comfortable_ wasn’t exactly the right word. 

 

Remus was talking with a steady, serious voice and everyone was listening intently.  Oh God, he was talking about Sirius, telling a story from their days at Hogwarts.  Hermione suddenly felt weak and _cold_.  They hadn’t even mentioned Sirius since they left Hogwarts, save how his death was affecting Harry.

 

Hermione looked around the room again and this time noticed Tonks and Mrs. Weasley openly weeping.  Harry’s eyes were bloodshot and Ginny kept turning her face and wiping her cheeks on Adrianna’s shoulder.  Heavens, they were having an impromptu memorial service.

 

She listened awhile longer.  It wasn’t until Hermione felt the wetness on her own cheeks that she realized she was crying as well.  Harry looked up and met her eyes.  Giving her a small smile, he motioned her over with a tilt of his head.

 

Fresh tears came to her eyes.  Hermione couldn’t believe Harry even wanted her near him.  After the way she’d yelled at him and then abandoned him for _hours_ to go _snog_ Ron.  She was the worst sort of friend.  But Harry seemed to want her near him and it was the least she could do, so she crept quietly into the room and sat next to him on the floor.

 

Even with the air of despair that hung over the room it felt amazing to be sitting next to Harry again, home and healthy.  She’d been so worried that something would happen and they’d never … Hermione had worried every minute of everyday.  And she just … just missed him.

 

Glancing out of the corner of her eye, Hermione felt a burning need to _tell_ him.  Even though this was clearly _not_ the time.  She couldn’t stand one more minute, thinking Harry might not understand.  Hermione grabbed his knee, hoping it would be enough to get him to look at her.  Thankfully it was.  His blissfully familiar green eyes were curious, completely free of condemnation. 

 

“I’m glad you’re home,” Hermione whispered, so softly that she wasn’t sure any sound emerged.

 

Harry must have understood, though, because he swallowed and mouthed, “Me, too.”

 

Hermione nodded, a few rapid jerks of her head, sending tears flying.  She squeezed his hand briefly before letting go.  Mustn’t smoother him.  Harry wasn’t all that comfortable with physicality.

 

Remus finished his story and Tonks started in with one of her own.  Hermione did her best to concentrate and was soon lost in the narrative.  She knew the moment Ron came to the doorway.  Her eyes were instantly drawn to his confused face. 

 

Ron searched the room and their eyes met.  She held out her hand to him and he appreciatively came to sit next to her, whispering, “What’s—”

 

“Shhh, just listen.”

 

They sat like that for hours, listening to story after story.  Hermione was absurdly grateful, sitting there, her boys on either side of her.  She just prayed she could keep them there.

 

 

 

* * * * *

 

 

 

Harry was woken from his nap by a knock on the door.  He stretched and pulled himself out of bed, stumbling over the door.  “I hear you, I hear you,” he muttered, opening the door a crack and peaking through.   Seeing George, he blinked blearily at him.

 

“Oi, Great Adventurer, Mum requests the presence of you and ickle Ronnikins at dinner.  And get a bleedin’ move on, we’re famished.”  

 

Harry rubbed his eyes.  “Dinner?  What time is it?”

 

George laughed.  “Almost seven.  You slept the day away, must still be on American time, or is it Japanese, or Moroccan—”

 

“I think Morocco is in the same time zone—”

 

“Whatever. Just get your arses in motion, or we’ll come in and set them on fire.  Literally.”

 

Harry rolled his eyes and closed the door on him.  Joking or not, George was right, jet lag was a killer.  He painstakingly lit several candles, burning his fingers in the process and cursing the underage magic laws all the while.  He wished they could at least have electricity.  Ron slept on, undisturbed by his brother’s pounding.  At least some things never changed. 

 

“Hey, Ron. Wake up, mate.”

 

His friend only moaned in response.  Harry frowned.  A grunt he expected, but a moan?  He walked over and found that Ron was sweating and moving restlessly.  Harry thought he heard him mutter, “Hermione.”

 

Harry’s eyes widened.  _Shite_.  “Ron, mate. _Wake_ up.”  Nothing.  So, Harry tried the magic word, “Dinner!”  More nothing, which _was_ concerning.  Ron always woke up when promised food. 

 

Instead, Ron just shook his head, mumbling, “Oh _God_.  Hermione!”

 

Whatever Hermione was doing to him it, sure was intense.  Harry chuckled.  It seemed he’d better get ok with Ron and Hermione being together right quick, because they sure weren’t waiting on him.

 

Harry leaned over, shaking him on the shoulder lightly.  “Ron, _wake up_!”  He shook harder.

 

Finally, Ron jerked.  Blinking and breathing heavy, he reentered the world of the living.  “Harry?”  He also looked disappointed.

 

“Hoping for someone else?”  Harry asked with a smirk.

 

“Hmm?”  Ron muttered, looking really out of it.

 

“You all right, mate?” Harry asked, with a bit more concern.

 

“Mmmhmm.”  His friend rubbed his face as he sat up.

 

Probably just _love_ sick, Harry thought, sitting on the edge of his bed.  He couldn’t help but grin wickedly.  “You were calling for Hermione, you know?”

 

Ron just frowned wearily.  He didn’t blush as Harry had expected.  “Yeah, well.  Get used to it.”

 

“Get used to it, huh?” Harry chuckled.  Was he finally going to get a confession?  Oh, God, was he finally going to get a confession?   

 

“Yeah, since I have nightmares about her every night.  Used to be naps were ok, but I reckon not any more.”

 

“Nightmares?  What is she doing, chasing you around with a homework planner?”  Harry teased, laughing to himself.

 

Ron’s eyes snapped up, his expression stony.  “ _No_ ,” he replied heatedly.  “She’s dying.  Every _damn_ night she dies.”

 

Harry felt his insides clench painfully and his face fell. Taking a sharp breath, he quickly apologized, “Shite, Ron … I’m sorry … I …” What had he been thinking?  Ron had these nightmares at Hogwarts.  Harry should have remembered.

 

“Don’t worry about it,” Ron brushed off, refusing to meet his eyes.

 

Harry felt that familiar gut wrenching remorse.  He hadn’t been there to help his friends deal with the aftermath of the Department of Mysteries, even before he had run away with Adrianna.  He searched for something to say.  In the end, he fumbled, “What can I do?”

 

“Do?”

 

“You know, to help with the nightmares?”  It was a silly thing to ask. As someone plagued by nightmares, Harry knew there wasn’t anything anyone could _do_.

 

Ron was shaking his head.  “Nothing helps.  I just need…” he trailed off, closing his eyes.

 

  1.   It wasn’t difficult to figure out what Ron was going to say. He needed Hermione.  Harry’s gut twisted with jealousy and loss.  Ron didn’t need him.  Was that Harry’s fault for not being available or was it just an inevitable part of growing up?  A bloke’s girl was just more important than his best mate and Hermione was both to Ron.  How could Harry compete with that?



 

“Is that why you were at Hermione’s the night of the attack?”

 

Ron looked at him with a bewildered expression and Harry realized that he was trying to keep up with the leap in the conversation.  Harry had gotten used to his thoughts being read over the last few months.

 

But Ron caught up without much difficulty.  “Yeah, that’s why I went.”

 

Harry struggled to find a way to get the conversation back on familiar grounds.  The last thing he wanted was tension between him and Ron.  The row today with Hermione had … it left him feeling sick and even though the actual row was over, the tension wasn’t going anywhere.  Not while Hermione felt the way she did about Adrianna.

 

“So, it wasn’t for a snog fest then?” Harry teased, tentatively this time. But when Ron blushed tomato-red Harry felt a naive sense of astonishment.  He’d been _joking_.  “ _Was_ there a snog fest?”

 

Ron winced, confessing quietly, “Well, I wouldn’t call it a _fest_ exactly …”

 

Harry jaw dropped open.  Leaning forward, he was ashamed to say he sounded like a six year-old girl when he asked, “You _kissed_ her?” 

 

“Not exactly.  She … doesn’t matter.  Yesterday, I kissed her.  This morning, rather.” 

 

Ron looked anxious and eager, as though he’d been needing a good confession for a long time.  Harry didn’t know how he felt about being the confidant, not on this particular subject anyway.  “Wow, that’s … wow.  You’re together, then?”

 

He didn’t think Ron could blush any redder, but he did.  “No.  We’re, um … we’re just practicing.”

 

What?  Harry was stunned.  And outraged.  Hermione was his best mate, too.  He couldn’t just let someone take advantage of her, even if it was Ron.  “ _What_!” 

 

 “It was her idea, mate.  I swear!  The relationship-thing never came up.  She probably realizes I’m not good enough for her.”

 

Harry stared at him, alarmed. What was _that_ nonsense?  Hermione thought the world of him.  “Ron, that’s not—”

 

“We both know I’m not … just … I don’t want to talk about it.  Promise, you won’t say anything, ‘specially to Hermione?”  Ron looked sad and anxious.

 

Harry took pity on Ron. And himself.  This was _way_ out of Harry’s expertise.  “Of, course, mate.  Um … so, dinner’s ready.”

 

Ron looked relieved.  “Oh.  Good, then.  Brilliant.”

 

In the hallway, Harry noticed his cousin’s door, across from theirs, was open and walked over.  Standing in the doorway, he found Adrianna staring distractedly at the mirror of her armoire.  She hadn’t wasted any time transfiguring the room the way she liked.

 

“Hey, you ready for dinner?” Harry called.

 

Adrianna looked over and gave him a preoccupied smile.  “You go along.  I’ll be down soon.”  She was twirling a ring on her finger.

 

Harry frowned.  She seemed distressed or something.  He noticed she had showered and changed.  She was wearing a skirt now, which seemed a bit odd.  It was just dinner.  “All right, there?”

 

“Mmmhmm.”  Adrianna pulled off the ring and dropped it in the drawer.  Then picking up her brush she started brushing her long hair.  “Fine.”

 

Ron came up behind him.  “Oi, we going?”

 

Harry nodded, still frowning at Adrianna, who was now brushing her hair with long, incredibly _slow_ strokes.  “’Dran, did they say something to you in the dinning room?” he persisted.  Maybe she just didn’t want to face Mrs. Weasley again.

 

Adrianna shook her head.  “I’m fine.  Really.  I’ll be there in a minute.”  She gave him a _slightly_ more convincing smile.

 

Harry nodded reluctantly and headed down the stairs with Ron.  Once they were out of hearing distance his friend asked, “Is Adrianna always so …?”

 

Distracted?  Out of it?  _Odd_?

 

“No.  No, she’s not.”

 

 

 

 

                                                            * * * * * *

 

 

 

 

Ginny was feeling well rested and strangely content after a nice long nap.  Though, she’d be lying to herself if she said a significant part of her newfound calm didn’t have something to do with Harry being safe and sound under the same roof as her.  But she wasn’t going to dwell on that.

 

Besides, Ginny’s good mood gave her the perfect opportunity to find full amusement in Hermione, who was anxiously arranging and rearranging the table settings, all the while taking great care to avoid Mrs. Weasley’s gaze, and the reason … well, _that_ was obvious to _anyone_ who’d _ever_ had a particularly vigorous snogging session. 

 

Ginny suppressed a giggle.  She caught Hermione’s arm as she flurried past her and pulled the flustered girl into the seat next to her.  She handed Hermione a glass of ice water.  “Here,” she whispered, not even trying to hide her glee.  “Suck on some ice.  It will help with the swelling.”

 

Hermione gasped and her hand flew to her bee-stung lips.  Ginny couldn’t hold back her laugh.  “Find something to do besides row, have you?” she asked cheekily.

 

 “Shhh!” Hermione gestured madly.  “Keep your voice down.  Your mum!”

 

Ginny’s eyes wandered over to where her mother was clanging unnecessarily around the kitchen.  She slammed a bowl that Dobby had enchanted to self-stir onto the table, causing the contents to slosh over the side.  “You’re under a lucky star tonight.  Mum’s too busy hating Adrianna to notice _your_ indiscretions.”

 

“You think so?”  Hermione asked hopefully, sipping water and sucking ice into her mouth.

 

“Oh, yeah,” Ginny said with a grin.  “ _I’d_ focus my full concern on the twins.” 

 

Hermione’s wide-eyes flew to the door where Fred and George were wandering in, joking amongst themselves.  She looked down quickly, sucking her lips into her mouth.  Ginny laughed uproariously, earning questioning looks from the twins as they sat at the end of the table.

 

Oh, what to do?  Continue to torture Hermione and later her brother, allowing the twins to join in the fun?  Or hold off and keep the knowledge to herself, for later ammunition?  Both had _such_ possibilities.

 

 _Crack._  Ginny was distracted by her favorite older brother Apparating into the kitchen.  Well, she had a lot of favorites, only one clear loser, though.  “Charlie!” Ginny called happily, springing from her seat and hugging him.  “What are you doing here?”

 

But Charlie was uncharacteristically tense and distracted.  He hugged her back halfheartedly, already yelling, “Mum, what the _hell_ is going on here?”

 

“Language, dear,” Molly chastised, smiling, as she wiped her hands on her apron and approached him.  “What do we owe the honor of your presence in Britain?”

 

Charlie scowled at her poorly concealed guilt trip.  “Perhaps it was the _pile_ of owls waiting for me when I returned from assignment.  Ron’s been kidnapped.  Ginny’s Stupefied.  Found Ron, Harry’s been kidnapped.  Death Eaters at the Burrow, had to move to headquarters—”

 

Molly ended Charlie’s tirade by taking his head in her hands and kissing his cheek, all the while ignoring his ravings as if he weren’t even speaking.

 

“What’s …?  Oh, well, here are Ron and Harry,” Charlie drawled sarcastically.  “Looking well, I must say.  Not at all _kidnapped_.”  He glared at his mother.

 

“Well, the kidnapper returned him this morning,” Mrs. Weasley replied lightly.

 

 “I was _not_ kidnapped!”  Harry defended heatedly.  “I chose to go with her—”

 

“Sit down, dear.  It’s all right,” Molly soothed, earning a deep frown from Harry.

 

Charlie rolled his eyes and shook his head in frustration. “Go with _who_ , Harry?” 

 

“Go with me,” Adrianna said softly.  Ginny turned to see her standing in the doorway, looking oddly still and ill at ease.  “Hello, Charlie.”

 

 “Oh, my God,” Charley breathed, all the color draining from his face.  “Anna?”

 

 

 

 

 

* * * * *


	16. Old friends

Charlie was perhaps the calmest Weasley, the most laid-back.  He took everything in stride, all mundane, everyday frustrations rolled easily off his broad back.  He couldn’t care less what people thought of him and insults were usually met with a wry smile.  Even the twins had often driven themselves to distraction trying to get a reaction from him.

 

It wasn’t that he didn’t get angry.  Like their father, Charlie’s temper came out rarely, but when it did, it was a sight to behold.  Still waters ran deep with Ginny’s second eldest and most elusive brother.  What he did care about he care about _passionately_ , to the point of obsession.  Like his ruddy dragons.

 

It was an exceptional thing that caused an emotional reaction from Charlie.  And it appeared, Ginny found, by some bizarre twist of Fate, Adrianna Potter just happened to be one of them.

 

He was pale as a ghost and if Ginny sprouted a second head, Charlie could _not_ have looked more astonished.  He actually seemed to sputter a bit, before whispering, “Anna?”

 

Ginny’s initial thought was, clearly, Charlie had mistaken Adrianna for someone else, some strange person named “Anna.”  But where Adrianna had walked in looking perfectly poised and groomed, not a hair out of place, not a feature uncontrolled, the simple breathing of the word, “Anna,” cracked her composure completely.  And Ginny thought, perhaps, she was finally seeing the real woman underneath the veneer.

 

“Charlie, please,” she breathed.  It almost sounded as though Adrianna were begging.  For what, Ginny hadn’t a clue, but she was evidently distressed and her tone was heavy with an undertone on intimacy.

 

It took a mere fraction of a second for Charlie’s frozen shock to turn into action.  When he lunged for her, Ginny flinched along with Adrianna.  He was over to her in three long, quick strides, and Adrianna was only able to take one small step backward before he caught her up in his powerful arms.

 

When he caught her, Adrianna yelped, “Charlie, what the hell—” 

 

She blinked rapidly and held her hands up to ward him off, showing she was _not_ a willing participant in this particular embrace.  Then he must have squeezed all the air from her lungs with those massive arms, because Adrianna just gasped for air as he lifted her off the ground, her toes just grazing the floor.

 

Ginny caught a quick glimpse of the pained look on Charlie’s face before he closed his eyes and buried his face in his captive’s shoulder.  Adrianna clutched his shoulders awkwardly, almost as though she couldn’t decide whether to pull him closer or push him away.  So she did neither, just blinked at the ceiling, and took deep breaths.  Was she trying not to cry?  It looked that way.

 

The room lapsed into a stunned silence, their mother dropping to a chair with a hand pressed to her chest, as though she were about to keel over due to a heart condition at any moment.  Harry scowled at the couple, shooting daggers at them with his eyes.  But, all in all, they were just waiting to see what happened next.  The twins grinned wickedly at one another, but even they seemed to be just watching, waiting to see exactly how this would unfold without interference.

 

When Charlie raised his head and met Adrianna’s eyes, some of her control had been restored and she met his gaze evenly, frowning down at him.  With a hesitant hand, he reached out to cup her face.  She turned it away and Ginny couldn’t help but wonder if Charlie would have kissed her, right there, in front of all of them.  He didn’t even seem to realize that there was anyone else in the room.

 

Adrianna tried to pull away, but even with one arm, Charlie held her effortlessly.  He might not be the most handsome of the Weasley men, not having the classic good looks of Bill or Ron, but he was by far the most muscular, with a body Ginny had, with no small amount of disgust, heard witch’s keen over.

 

“What are you …?”  Charlie started, but then seemed to change his mind.  Swallowing, he said instead, “You’ve been out of Japan for a year.”  His voice was oddly husky.  It made Ginny uncomfortable, as though it were too intimate to watch.  When had she developed a conscious when it came to voyeurism?

 

 “True,” Adrianna replied in a short, clipped tone.

 

“You didn’t come back.”

 

 “Did you _expect_ me to?” she returned hostilely, her body becoming rigid.

 

 “No, I …” Charlie appeared to grope for words, giving Ginny the impression that even though he had Adrianna captured, she was the one with the power.  It made Ginny nervous for her brother.

 

But Charlie regained his composure easily.  “It doesn’t matter,” he stated, his face breaking into a broad, charming grin that emphasized his deep dimples and was clearly designed to melt the most stubborn of witch’s hearts.  “You’re here now.”

 

 “I’m not here for _you_ ,” Adrianna hissed heatedly.  She could out stubborn the best of them, it seemed. 

 

But Charlie’s playful expression showed that he didn’t believe her.  “Then why are you here?”

 

Adrianna rolled her eyes and impotently shoved him, attempting to get away.  Sighing in frustration, she finally said, “I’m _here_ because Fate is playing a cruel, cruel joke on me.”

 

Charlie grinned wider, saying in a gravely, intimate tone, “Or she’s finally cutting _me_ a break.”

 

 “I’ll give you a break,” she growled, kicking his shin and making Charlie laugh.  Ginny would have thought Adrianna was stronger than that.  Was she holding back?  And why didn’t she use magic to get away if she wanted to so badly?

           

 “Seriously, why are you here?” Charlie asked again, still with that stupid grin on his face.

 

Adrianna let out a small grunt of annoyance before saying nastily, “Haven’t you been paying one lick of attention?”  He shrugged and grinned cheekily.  “Of course, not.  You never do,” she snipped.

 

“Why should I?  You do that for me, love?”

 

 _Shite_ , exactly what kind of relationship _did_ Charlie and Adrianna have? With every minute that went by, it seemed more and more intense.  So why the hell hadn’t Charlie ever told his family about it?  The lies he must have told to keep a relationship like this a secret. All Ginny could think was: why?

 

“And what have you been doing for the last _three years_?” Adrianna snapped.

 

The grin left Charlie’s face, but not the intensity.  “I dunno,” he said softly, the pain in his voice making Ginny want to know exactly what that bitch had done to him.  How _dare_ she leave her brother? But then Ginny saw that there was an equal pain in Adrianna’s eyes and felt ashamed of her thoughts.  Just a _bit_. 

 

Adrianna looked away, seemingly not able to take the look in Charlie’s eyes.  She sighed, then, in a more even voice, explained, “I’m here for my cousin.  I took Harry to Japan for the summer to learn Occlumency.  Thus, I am the _kidnapper_ you have been so warned about.”

 

Charlie’s brow furrowed.  “Cousin?”  He looked over at Harry.  “Huh.  _Potter_.  I never made the connection.  I wonder why?”

 

“Because you’re a dim-witted fool.”

 

Ginny frowned as the insult, feeling indignant for her brother, but a hearty laugh was Charlie’s only acknowledgement.  Looking back over to Harry, he said, “Japan, then?  You’re a lucky bloke, Harry.” 

 

Ginny didn’t think Harry looked as though he were feeling particularly lucky at that moment and her was positively rabid at the mere idea.

 

“Well, you’re the _only_ one who thinks so,” Adrianna muttered, having apparently noticed the things that Ginny had.  Only _Ginny_ had noticed them without fancy Empath powers. Ha.  “Now, will you let me down before your mother skewers me with a kitchen knife?”

 

Charlie just smiled at her, wrapping his other arm back around her waist, in direct opposition to her request.  “Don’t be silly, why would my mother do that?”

 

Adrianna was right.  Charlie _was_ a dim-witted fool.

 

“I don’t know,” Adrianna snapped sarcastically.  “Maybe because she thinks I _kidnapped_ Harry.”  

 

Her brother’s cheekiness returned, saying so quietly that Ginny could barely hear, “If anything she’d frowning because I’ve got my hand over your a—” 

 

“Then get your hand _off_!”  Adrianna yelled back, clearly loosing her patience.

 

But instead of backing off, Charlie tried wheedling again, “ _Anna_ —” 

 

But apparently that was _not_ the thing to say.  Adrianna’s face turned red.  “ _Avarska_ ,” she barked and his arms fell away from her in a flash of blue light.  She jumped back from him as if burned.

 

“A blama, Charlie.  Nu strigăt mă decât!”  Adrianna yelled, leaving everyone completely bewildered.

 

“Eu totdeauna strigăt tu decât, _Anna_ ,” Charlie returned with equal heat.

 

“Tu să opri acum, dacă tu a vrea la a vorbila mă la în întregime!  Nu eu unul a face o greşeală, Charlie, şi tu _a înţelege_ _el_.”

 

  1.   Right.  What the hell was _that_!  Adrianna and Charlie were arguing rapidly, and loudly, in a lovely lilting language.  And Ginny couldn’t understand one _drop_.  She scanned the room.  It seemed no one else understood any better.  She looked to Hermione, “Do you know what language—?”



 

Hermione shook her head, bemused, “No idea.  Sounds a little like Italian, but it’s defiantly not.”  She glanced anxiously at Harry.  His fists were clenched and he had a mask of hurt on his face.  It seemed that Harry didn’t know any more about Adrianna and Charlie than the rest of them did.

 

Fred chuckled, whispering none-too-quietly to George, “Looks like old Charlie finally found a bird to make his blood boil.”  Apparently, the twins had finally had enough of being the silent observers.

 

“Yeah and Mum’s too.”  George laughed out right.  “I can see it now, ‘Mum, I’d like you to meet your new daughter— _ow_!”  He winced as Ron punched him in the side.  “Bloody hell, you little—” 

 

 “Do you two gits ever know when to shut it?” Ron muttered.

 

 “Woohoo.  Look who has the stones in the family now—”  Fred drawled, ready for battle.  They were _so_ inappropriate sometimes.

 

“Do shut up,” Hermione snapped, quietly.

 

 _That_ did nothing but egg them on.  Ginny was getting beyond frustrated. She was trying to eavesdrop on Charlie and Adrianna and, as they _refused_ to speak English, she really needed to concentrate.

 

George looked to Fred conspiratorially, “Coming to rescue of the boyfriend.  I see many happy years of our little Hermione rescuing—”

 

“Fucking _shut it_!” Ginny hissed, finally shocking everyone into silence. 

 

She used that word _very_ rarely and never so her mum could hear.  When Ginny _did_ use it, it was with purpose, to achieve the maximum affect.  And this time, it succeeded in finally quieting her family.  

 

Ginny stepped closer to Harry, touching his arm and whispering, “All right, there, Harry?”  

 

He didn’t respond.

 

By then, Charlie and Adrianna had calmed considerably and were now talking intently in the same rapid-fire dialect.  Ginny even detected a few short laughs and at one point she swore Adrianna said, “Charlie,” with deep affection.

 

But from the other side of the room, Mrs. Weasley had finally had her fill.  “ _Enough_!  Charles Weasley, you will tell me the meaning of this, immediately!” she demanded, at full volume.  “In _English_!” 

 

The arguing stopped abruptly.  Charlie and Adrianna stared each other down from four feet apart.  Then, after a beat, Charlie said sweetly and serenely, never taking his eyes from Adrianna, “Meaning of what, Mum?”

 

 _Honestly_.  Was Ginny the only one who knew that Ron was the lone sibling who could get away with playing stupid with Mum? 

 

Mrs. Weasley growled again, leaving no doubt where her children got their temper.  “How.  Do.  You.  Know.  _Adrianna_?”  She emphasized every word and sneered the last.

 

At last, Charlie turned to look at his mother, frowning and clearly taking offense at the tone she used toward his … what?  Girlfriend?  Ex-lover?  Regardless, it seemed he was finally beginning to understand the situation.

 

Looking back at Adrianna, Charlie answered evenly, “Adrianna and I go _way_ back.  Old friends.”  The words seemed to be more addressed to the younger witch than his mother.

 

“That’s right.  Old _friends_ ,” Adrianna echoed, her voice almost defiant as she folded her arms across her chest.  Ginny glanced again at Harry.  He clearly thought they were being evasive.  Who wouldn’t?  It was _so_ obvious.  But the poor boy looked down right betrayed as well.

 

 “Is that so?”  Mrs. Weasley huffed.

 

“Mmhm,” Charlie said calmly, though he held his body tense.  “For many, _many_ years.”

 

His mother closed her eyes and shook her head, looking way beyond aggravation now.  “And where exactly did this _long_ and lasting friendship occur?”

 

Charlie shrugged.  “Romania, of course.  Really, mum, that _is_ where I’ve been for the last ten years.”  It was strange how he said it.  It almost made Ginny question if he _had_ been in Romania for all that time.  But that was ridiculous.  Where else would he have been?

 

 “So, dinner looks lovely, Dobby,” Adrianna said pointedly, purposefully sitting down at the table and placing a napkin on her lap.  She scowled as Charlie took the seat next to her, _just_ as purposefully.

 

Harry came around and sat across from them, taking the perfect position to keep an eye on the two.  There was more harrumphing and muttering from their mum, as well as teasing from the twins.  But their jibes didn’t even come close to penetrating Charlie or Adrianna’s cool exterior and eventually they died down.

 

After dinner was served and Harry stewed a bit, he looked up, whispering sullenly, “It seems strange.  All these years of knowing each other and you never made the connection that we’re related.”  He glared at Charlie as he said it.

 

Adrianna stared at her cousin for long moments before saying, almost apologetically, “I didn’t really use my last name, Harry.  You know that.”

 

“Still, it is strange,” Charlie agreed conversationally, seemingly unaware of Harry’s ire.  “Almost as if Fate arranged it that way.”  He smiled, appearing to be very pleased with Fate at the moment.

 

Adrianna grunted, clearly of a differing opinion.  “Then again, given Charlie’s _perceptiveness_ , maybe it’s not so strange at all.”

 

The conversation only seemed to irritate Harry further, who stabbed at his chicken, trying to kill it for a second time.  “That doesn’t explain why, in three _months_ , you didn’t realize Ron and Ginny were related to Charlie.”

 

“But she did make the connection,” Ginny interjected, surprised that Harry didn’t remember.  “That first day at Hagrid’s hut, when Dumbledore said my full name.”

 

Harry’s eyes flew to Ginny, before coming to rest on Adrianna and narrowing accusingly.  Her expression confirmed Ginny’s suspicion.  “Why didn’t you say anything?” Harry demanded.

 

Adrianna sighed.  But then she shrugged, developing that hard look again as she returned her full attention to her dinner.  “Because it was irrelevant.”  .

 

Charlie gave bark of a laugh.   “Irrelevant, eh?”

 

 “That’s right,” Adrianna countered scathingly.  “It was irrelevant _then_ and it’s irrelevant _now_.”

 

 “Well, love,” Charlie replied with a smile, “ _that_ sounds like a challenge.”

 

Adrianna rolled her eyes, saying in a defeated way, “Take it as you want.  You _always_ do.”

 

The rest of dinner was tense, although no one mentioned Romania again.  Ginny glanced to her right to see what Hermione thought of the whole thing, but the older girl had her eyes glued to the table as she played with her ice.  Ginny caught a quick fleeting look she shared with Ron, before Hermione looked down again, blushing.

 

Bloody _hell_.  Ginny had forgotten all about them.  It occurred to her, as she finished her chicken, exactly how lucky Hermione and Ron had been over the last few days. 

 

Ron disappeared in the middle of the night, scaring them all half to death.  Ron _and_ Hermione were found in compromising positions, not once, but _twice_ , after having spent the night together.  Then they sneak off, during a _crisis_ , to have serious snog fest and they were getting off completely unscathed.

 

Somehow, each time, something had happened to take attention away from them.  They had slipped _completely_ under the Sneakoscope.    It really wasn’t fair.  Ginny was going to have to do something about it. 

 

Right after, she found out _exactly_ what sort of secrets Charlie was keeping.

 

 

 

 

                                                            * * * * *

 

 

 

Harry lay on his narrow, single bed well after midnight, contemplating why he wasn’t sleeping.  Maybe, he just wasn’t used to beds like this anymore.  It _did_ remind him of his horrible, hard, little bed at the Dursleys’.  It could also be that he just had too much sleep this afternoon.  Now, his sleep cycle was completely screwed up and adjusting to the time difference wasn’t helping.

 

Or _maybe_ he was just a tiny bit apprehensive about what his cousin was _not_ telling him about Charlie Bloody Weasley.  The mere thought of it put a bitter taste in Harry’s mouth and sent restless anxiety coursing through him.  He _hated_ secrets.  There was always something _someone_ wasn’t telling him.  And it really ticked him off that this time it was Adrianna.

 

He wanted to think that she was the one person in his life that was completely truthful.  That she told him everything.  But lying here now, Harry realized that was an absurd fantasy.  As an Empath she knew more secrets than any one person had the right to know.  Adrianna couldn’t possibly tell him _everything_.

 

But today she’d _lied_ to him, lied to all of them.  Harry might not be all that well versed in the ways of love, but a person had to be a complete idiot to believe Adrianna and Charlie were _just_ friends.  If she was going to lie, she could have come up with something more plausible, so Harry could at least keep his comforting delusions intact.

 

Though, it was more than that keeping him awake tonight.  He just didn’t want to think about the other reason.  It was so damned shameful it made him physically ill. What kind of person did it make him that Harry couldn’t stand Adrianna having a relationship that didn’t include him?

 

For three and a half months, Harry had the privilege of Adrianna’s undivided attention, something he had never had from anyone, ever. And he had _liked_ it.  It made him feel special.  It made him feel wanted.  And he wasn’t ready to give it up. 

 

With a healthy dose of self-reproach, Harry realized that his friends’ suspicions of his cousin had only helped his cause by isolating her.  He was Adrianna only ally.  And he liked that as well.  Harry wondered when he had become such a selfish prat. 

 

So, now Charlie comes along and Adrianna had a “friend” that has nothing to do with Harry.  An ally that knew her much better than he did.  And _that,_ he hated.

 

“ _No_!”  An agonizing scream came from the next bed.  “Hermione, please.”

 

Harry squeezed his pillow over his head, holding in over his ears, blocking out the obvious reminder of _another_ relationship he wasn’t a part of, another place he was excluded.  Of course, the pillow was of _no_ help.  And Harry knew he was being punished for his selfishness when Ron’s cries only became louder and more agonized. 

 

“Don’t be dead!  Don’t be dead!” 

 

Harry’s guilt was so intense he started to choke.  All he ever did was feel sorry for himself.  He never thought about how other people were affected by the traumas in their life.  The traumas that _he_ was in some way responsible for. 

 

Great, now all that self blame he worked so hard to get rid of was back.  It wasn’t his fault, Harry reminded himself.  They chose to come to the Department of Mysteries.  Hermione _chose_ to come.  And she didn’t die.  She did _not_ die.

 

“No, Hermione, please.  Come back to me!”

 

Though, she seemed to be doing just that in Ron’s dream.  Another loud, wordless scream made Harry’s eyes sting and gave him enough of a kick in the arse to sit up and at least _look_ at Ron. 

 

Shite.  He was worse off than this afternoon, drenched in sweat, thrashing.  Should Harry try to wake him?  Ron began to sob in his sleep.  Ron _never_ sobbed. 

 

Harry couldn’t stand it anymore.  He approached his friend, calling his name.  The first time it was a whisper.  Then he tried again, with increasing volume, but Ron didn’t seem to hear.  He was curled in a ball whimpering Hermione’s name.  The sight nauseated Harry.  He needed to make it stop.  He needed …

 

But _Ron_ didn’t _need_ Harry.  He’d said so this afternoon.  He needed _Hermione_.  She was the only one who could make the nightmares stop. 

 

Harry stood there, watching his best friend, conflicted and ashamed, because even with the blatant evidence of his friend’s pain, he didn’t want to share.  Ron was Harry’s friend _first_.  Ron and Hermione were only friends because of _him_.  He was the glue.  He didn’t want to be the third wheel.  He wanted to be the _center_ of their little trio.

 

He had thought he was over these feelings, but he reckoned not.  There was something about the dead of night that brought out the rawest, most appalling parts of a person.  Harry turned away from Ron and closed his eyes.  If he was going to do this, he needed to do it quickly, before he lost his nerve.

 

Methodically, Harry opened the door and walked into the hall.  He concentrated on each step he took, not letting the urge to turn back win.  Down the steps.  One … two … three … down the hallway.  Don’t stop.  Don’t knock or he’d never go in.  He opened the door.  Don’t pause.  Just do it.

 

Harry carefully crept over to Hermione’s bed and leaned over her.  “Hermione, wake up,” he whispered.  Do it!  “Ron needs you.”

 

It could have been Harry’s imagination, but he thought it was Ron’s name that made her jerk and sit up.  Maybe Hermione needed Ron just as much he needed her.  “What’s wrong?  What happened?” she asked anxiously.

 

Harry took a deep breath and forced himself to answer.  This wasn’t about him.  A good friend would do this.  “Ron’s calling for you.  I, uh … I think he needs you.”

 

“What’s wrong?”  Hermione asked again, her hair wild, her eyes frightened.

 

Harry told himself this was not an acceptable reason to get teary.  He was just not _that_ pathetic.  Harry could bloody well help out a friend without becoming a great big poof.  “Ron’s having a nightmare.  He’s not responding to me when I call him.”

 

Hermione nodded resolutely, as if this was something she’d dealt with before and knew exactly what to do.  Quickly, she got out of bed and hurried out the door.  Harry followed at a much slower pace.  It wasn’t as though they needed _him_.

 

As Harry cleared the staircase he saw Hermione rush into his and Ron’s bedroom.  Across the hall, his cousin’s door opened.  And Charlie stepped out.  Harry’s stomach clenched.  Great, fucking great.

 

Adrianna stepped out as well and Charlie said good night, lightly, hesitantly, giving her a kiss on the cheek.  She tried to smile, but her gaze was averted, her arms tightly crossed.  Only when Charlie had moved down to the end of the long hallway and into his own room, did she turn and make eye-contact with Harry.

 

He realized that he was still frozen on the stairs and made himself move toward her.  Harry couldn’t help but wonder why Adrianna didn’t look guilty after what he had just seen.  Instead, she just looked resolved.  And a little sad.  She was difficult to riddle out, his cousin.

 

“Hey,” Adrianna called softly, finally giving Harry her full attention.  About bloody time.  She’d been distracted since the moment Charlie Apparated into the kitchen.  “Quite a nice thing you did for Ron and Hermione.”

 

Harry felt an unexpected burst of pride.  So, this is what it felt like to have someone care if he did the right thing.  He rather liked it.  Enough that he almost forgave Adrianna.  _Almost_.

 

“Yeah, well,” Harry murmured, shuffling his feet and smiling a bit.

 

Adrianna smiled back and for a moment it made whatever Ron and Hermione were doing inside the bedroom worthwhile.  Now, if Adrianna would just tell him what the _hell_ was going on with her and Charlie. 

 

For example, Harry would really like to know the truth about the nature of their relationship, the _real_ reason Adrianna hadn’t told Harry about Charlie while they were in Japan, and, of course, _what_ the fuck Charlie was doing in her bedroom in the middle of the bleeding night.

 

The minutes dragged on and unanswered questions flew through Harry’s mind, making him grow more and more anxious.  He met Adrianna’s eyes and found her staring back at him, eyebrows raised, a challenging expression on her face.  He waited for her to speak.  And waited some more.

 

Finally, Harry sighed in frustration.  “You aren’t going to answer my questions, are you?”  It came out as a whine, but he couldn’t muster the energy to care _how_ it sounded.

 

“Nope,” she said glibly, giving him a life-sucks-kid-get-use-to-it expression.  Adrianna was _good_ at that particular expression.

 

“Why the hell not?” Harry demanded, having learned that since she knew his thoughts, he might as well speak his mind. 

 

“Because …” Adrianna sighed, looking away.  “Because I don’t want to talk about it.  Because I need to leave it where it is, in the past.”

 

Harry rolled his eyes.  “Like five-minutes-ago-in-your-bedroom in the past?”

 

She laughed at that.  “Clever.”  But then her smile faded, leaving a dark and pessimistic cloud.  “Look Harry, things between Charlie and me, they ended really badly three years ago.  If we’re going to be staying in the same house we needed to talk a few things through.”

 

Or Charlie could just leave, Harry thought bitterly.  It sounded like the ideal solution to him.

 

“Believe me, I tried.  He won’t go back to Romania, no matter what I say.  Charlie’s … _stubborn._ Stubborn and masochistic.”

 

Harry couldn’t help but smile.  He tried to tell himself it was because she was telling him some of her secrets and _not_ because Adrianna didn’t want Charlie around.  The former was at least _somewhat_ acceptable.

 

“Unless, you’d like to go to America,” Adrianna suggested in a hopeful tone.  “I can get you into the best school there.  No problem.”

 

It was tempting.  To start over.  No past, no Destiny, no Boy-Who-Lived.  Harry smiled wryly.  “We can’t really do that, can we?”

 

Adrianna sighed, putting on a bit of a pout.  “No.”

 

Harry mimicked her expression, asking, even though he knew the answer, “Why not?”

 

“’Cause life sucks?  Haven’t I told you?”  Adrianna broke into a playful smile, making Harry chuckle.  “Go to sleep.  We have things to do tomorrow.”

 

“Like what?” he called after her as Adrianna started to slip back into her room.  Harry didn’t really want her to leave.  He wanted her to keep talking.  That way, he didn’t have to go back into his room.

 

“Good night, Harry,” Adrianna insisted, smiling as she closed the door behind her.

 

Harry stared at the closed door and sighed.  Strangely, he _did_ feel a bit better.  But as much as he wanted to, he couldn’t stay in this hall forever, and it didn’t appear as though Hermione was going to come out any time soon.  Onward to the inevitable, he supposed, stepping back into his room. 

 

He found Ron and Hermione locked in an embrace.  On Ron’s _bed._  Of course, he did _._ What did he expect?  To find them playing chess?  At least they weren’t snogging.

 

The embrace wasn’t particularly … boyfriend-girlfriendish.  Well, maybe it was.  While it could hardly be called torrid, it wasn’t entirely platonic either.  They were sitting up and Ron had his head buried in Hermione’s hair.  She was stroking his head and whispering, “I’m fine, see.  I know you’ll get to me.  I know.”

 

It broke Harry’s heart to see them.  He hoped they’d _always_ be able to get to Hermione in time.  Something inside him shifted and he knew that what was going on with them was much more important than his petty insecurities. 

 

Harry found himself saying, “Hermione, you should sleep here tonight.”

 

Ron’s head jerked up, his face red and puffy.  He looked embarrassed and more than a little shocked.  “What?” 

 

Hermione swallowed, one hand still on Ron’s back.  “Harry, you don’t—” 

 

“No, it’s ok.  You both need …” Each other.  Fuck. “… to be able to sleep.  A lot’s happened and Ron’s not going to be able to sleep without you.”  At least, Ron had the grace to blush.  “I’m fine with it, really.”  Yeah, right.  Sure, he was.  “It’s not as if … I mean, with me here, you wouldn’t … would you?”

 

“ _No_!” they both rushed to deny.  Then Hermione continued, blushing profusely, “No.  Harry, I … we would _never_ …”

           

Ron shot her an incredulous look that made Harry laugh and feel a good deal better.  They were still Ron and Hermione, still his best mates.

           

Harry smile was genuine when he said, “So, it’s settled then.  I’ll see you both in the morning.”  He got into bed and purposefully turned away from them.  Closing his eyes, he pretended to sleep.  After a few minutes of whispered conversation and rustling, there was just quiet.  Once Harry was sure they had settled down, he couldn’t stop himself from flipping over to look at them.  It seemed he was too curious for his own good.

 

Hermione and Ron were both asleep, on their sides, facing him.  As far as Harry could tell, the only place they were touching was where Ron’s arm was loosely flung over her waist.

 

It wasn’t _so_ bad.  Harry could deal with this.  After all, they couldn’t really leave him behind if they were all in the same room, right? 

 

 

 

 

* * * * *

 

 

 

Ron awoke from a thoroughly pleasant dream to the equally pleasant sensation of Hermione pressed along the length of his body.  He hummed in groggy contentment and pulled her closer.  Did he say equally?  Make that more pleasurable.  Far, _far_ more pleasurable.

 

“Ron, you have to let go.”

 

He barely heard her harsh whisper.  He must have misheard anyway.  Why would Ron want to let go?  Hermione was wriggling against him now and _that_ felt even better. 

 

“Ron, let _go_!  I have to get back to my room.”

 

“No, you don’t,” he drawled sleepily, peering at her through half-open eyes.  Hermione had managed to sit up and her hair was everywhere.  He loved her hair.  Ron reached up and pulled her back down, this time facing him.  Holding her tightly about the waist, he reveled in the warm, hazy sensations.  Mmmm.  _This_ was paradise.

 

Hermione sighed, frustration clear in her voice.  “Ron, wake _up_.  If you were fully awake, right now you wouldn’t—” 

 

“Mmmm awake,” he murmured.  “No reason to get up.  Harry doesn’t care.”  Ron leaned up slightly and peered over her to where Harry was sprawled out on his bed.  “See, he’s still asleep.  We can all have a bit of a lie in.”  He gave her his best pouty-puppy face and smiled lazily as he felt Hermione melt against him.  Ron could get used to this.

 

“Ron, it’s not Harry I’m worried about.  Your mum’s bound to be up.  If she finds us, we won’t be able to do this again.”

 

 _Shite_.  Ron’s eyes snapped open and he loosened his grip.  Hermione chuckled as she climbed out of bed.  The little witch was proud of herself for outwitting … wow, she looked amazing in the first light of morning.  Those soft blue pajamas were quickly becoming one of Ron’s favorite things.  He loved how they felt … 

 

Ron was out of bed in a second.  Grabbing Hermione’s hand just as it touched the doorknob, he spun her around so her back was against the door.  Leaning his forearm against the door, above her head, he bent toward her until he felt her breath coming in soft, quick, little pants on his lips.  Mmmm.

 

“Ron, what are you doing?” Hermione whispered.

 

What _was_ he doing?  The thinking part of his brain didn’t seem to have woken up yet.  Ron was moving on pure impulse.  “Um … I didn’t get to say good morning.”

 

Hermione gave short puff of a laugh.  “Good morning, then.”  She looked up at him expectantly.  “Say ‘Good morning,’ Ron.  I’m going to …”  She trailed off, looking at his lips.  Did she want him to kiss her?  He sure as hell _wanted_ to kiss her.  Was he allowed to do that now? 

 

“I was thinking, Hermione,” Ron whispered, leaning still closer.  He could almost feel her lips as he spoke.  “Seeing as I’m such a slow learner, I think we need to start Practicing right away.”

 

“You’re not—” she protested, but her eyelids fluttered closed and Ron took this as permission to press his lips to hers.  He was just beginning to enjoy the softness and the pressure when Hermione pushed him away.

 

Breathing heavily, Hermione whispered, “Ron, we can’t.  Not _now_.” Damn, was she trying to kill him?  Ron tried the pout again.  The corners of her mouth twitched, but instead of giving in she breathed, “Later.”

 

Ron sighed.  Not exactly what he had in mind, but he’d take it.  “Promise?”

 

“Promise.” 

 

He beamed at her and Hermione smiled back shyly.  Suddenly it was Christmas.  Before she could stop him, Ron pressed another hard, quick kiss to her lips, then pulled back and opened the door for her.  He could be a gentleman.  He smiled after her in what he was sure was a besotted way as she skirted under his arm and out the door.

 

Ron forced himself to close the door after she was out of sight, but not before he noticed how good those fantastic, favorite pajamas made her arse look.  He hadn’t noticed that before.  Promising himself he’d pay better attention in the future, Ron threw himself back down on the bed, intending on having his lie in anyway.  But apparently he was now _wide_ awake.  His heart was beating quickly.   _Later_ , she’d said.  Later sounded _awfully_ good.

 

Pulling himself out of bed, Ron made his way to the loo.  He considered a nice long shower, but after he relieved himself and his morning condition dwindled, the lure of a shower lessened considerably.  Besides, there was a rumbling in his belly that seemed a whole lot more urgent.

 

Ron made his way to the kitchen, humming happily.  He was going to Practice today.  What a bloody _brilliant_ day!  Even if he _could_ hear the yelling drifting up the stairs.

 

“Molly, she’s Julian’s daughter for heaven’s sake—” 

 

“I don’t care if she’s Dumbledore’s daughter.  We don’t know her from Merlin and I don’t trust her.  And you’re an _idiot_ if you do!”

 

“Molly!” Mr. Weasley roared.  Oh well, so just an ordinary day then, Ron thought.  The only thing new was the subject matter.

 

Charlie’s voice joined the argument.  He sounded tired.  “To be fair, Mum.  I know her rather well and there’s nothing not to trust … oh, hello, Ron.”

 

Yeah, and it was the “rather” that had their mum in such a huff.  Ron entered the kitchen and sat down across from his brother, greeting him with a smile.  “Hello.”

 

Best to just pretend the fight wasn’t even happening.  No need to let it spoil _his_ good mood.  Ron had both of his best friends in the same house with him _and_ he had a little _personal_ time scheduled with one of them.  He started to hum.

 

“Morning, dear.  You’re up early.”  Mrs. Weasley kissed Ron’s crown and placed a plate of steaming hot breakfast in front of him.  Brilliant.  Too bad his mother was already back to yelling at Charlie.  “And how well _do_ you know this girl I’ve never even heard about, hmmm?  I insist you tell me _exactly_ what your relationship to this girl is!”  

 

“I told you,” Charlie said, all innocence.  “We’re friends.” Ron hid a snigger in a fork-full of eggs.

 

“From Romania?” 

 

Molly glared at him, but Charlie didn’t flinch.  He stayed cool as always.  “That’s right.”

 

“And what was she _doing_ in Romania?”

 

“Working for the American Ministry.”  He ate his breakfast calmly, not looking at his mother.

 

“And you were _just_ friends.”

 

“Yep.”

 

“Looked more than friendly to me.”  It was an accusation.  And also a very excellent point.  Ron couldn’t understand why Charlie was being so evasive.  He was twenty-eight.  He could date anyone he wanted to.

 

“She’s a really _good_ friend.  I haven’t seen her in awhile.”

 

Ron’s mother harrumphed, as angry as he had ever seen her.  She turned to her husband.  “And you believe this nonsense?”

 

“I believe we need to take Adrianna at face value.  She’s Julian’s daughter, Harry’s cousin, and Charlie’s friend.  What more should we need?” Arthur argued and Ron agreed wholeheartedly.  Except for this Julian bloke.  Never heard of him.

 

“I’ll tell you what I need.  I _need_ the lot of you to start talking sense.  _Clearly_ , she’s bewitched you all with her Empath powers.”  Ron’s mum was beginning to sound an awful lot like Hermione.  Mental.

 

“Doesn’t work like that, Mum,” Charlie told her, starting to sound irritable.

 

“And now I suppose you know _all about_ Empathy.”

 

Ron thought he heard Charlie mumble under his breath, “More than you.”

 

 _Of course_ , their mother heard as well.  She _always_ did. “Charles Weasley you had better—” 

 

“What do _you_ think, Ron?”  Charlie deflected effortlessly.  Fixing his gaze on his brother.  “Harry’s _your_ best mate.”

 

Ron only took a second to glare at Charlie before he shrugged and mumbled, his mouth full of food, “Dunno.”  His brother was _not_ dragging him into this one.  He just wanted a nice breakfast.  He needed to build up his strength for the snogging later on.  The girl his brother wanted to snog was _his_ business.

 

“It’s all right, dear.  You just keep eating.”  Sometimes it was good being one of the babies in the house.  “Charlie, you leave your brother out of this, I’ve had enough of your nonsense—” 

 

Charlie had always been a bit of a peacemaker in the family.  Jovial and quick-witted, he skirted arguments deftly.  He was _not_ a fighter.  He usually dealt well with their mother by cleverly complimenting her and avoiding the dangerous subjects.

 

So, Ron nearly choked on his eggs when his brother, and lifelong role model, turned to their mother and snapped, “No, Mother _I’ve_ had enough!  I’m not listening to one more _word_ against Adrianna!  She’s a good person.  Either you trust me or you don’t.”

 

Molly Weasley turned scarlet, then ash-white.  She threw her dish rag on the kitchen table.  “You can all get your own breakfast, then.” she hissed, before turning to stomp out of the room. 

 

It was rather an empty threat, Ron thought, as he shoved a large piece of bacon into his mouth.  Even if they wanted seconds, Dobby was doing the cooking.  Shite, Ron was hungry.  That elf was a good cook.

 

Arthur came to sit next to Charlie and placed a hand on his shoulder, shaking his head.  “I’m sorry, son.  I don’t know what’s got into your mother over this.” 

 

Wasn’t it obvious?  “Mmmm … it’s the same with Hermione,” Ron said, swallowing his toast as his brother and father looked at him with bemusement.  “Adrianna’s a controlling, pushy, know-it-all.  Mum and Hermione don’t like that.”

 

“That goes without saying,” his father laughed.

 

Ron shook his head.  His dad didn’t understand.  How could he live in _this_ house so long and not get it?  “No.  Mum and Hermione are _also_ controlling, pushy, know-it-alls.  The _reigning_ controlling, pushy, know-it-alls.  Adrianna’s threatening to them.”

 

Arthur and Charlie looked at him with wide-eyed astonishment.  Ron took another bite of eggs and continued, “And they were the primary women in Harry’s life.  Now, they’ve been displaced.  So, they don’t like her.”  Of course, for their mum, it didn’t help that Adrianna had a secret relationship with one of her sons.  But Ron felt that it was best to keep that particular observation to himself for the time being.

 

“Well, then.”  Arthur cleared his throat.  “I think I’ll just go and see if I can calm down your mother.”

 

Once he left, Charlie narrowed his eyes at Ron.  “That’s quite insightful, little brother.  Makes one think this whole ‘Don’t blame me, Mum.  I do stupid things ‘cause I don’t know any better’ thing is all an act.”

 

Ron blinked back at him with practiced innocence.  “I dunno what you’re talking about.”

 

“Right convenient as well.  Perhaps, letting you get away with say … escapades to the girlfriend’s house in the middle of the night.”

 

Ron, again, choked on his eggs.  “She’s _not_ my girlfriend.”  Charlie narrowed his eyes even further.  “Honest,” he insisted, cheeks hot. 

 

He really didn’t want another conversation about the bizarre nature of his relationship with Hermione.  Ron just wanted to enjoy it.  Deciding he had better deflect quickly, he asked a question he knew would divert Charlie’s attention, “So, how well _do_ you know Adrianna?”

 

As hoped, Charlie turned serious.  For the first time, Ron noticed that there were bags under his eyes, making Ron wonder if he had slept at all.  Charlie looked away for a moment and Ron started to regret asking the question.  The answer wasn’t worth the obvious discomfort it was causing his brother. 

 

When Charlie turned back to meet his eyes, there was a hardness Ron had never seen in him before.  “How well do you know Harry and Hermione?”

 

 

 

 

* * * * *


	17. Satisfying Curiosity

Ginny sat on her bed, with her knees to her chest, waiting for Hermione to return from her little late night rendezvous with Ron.  Again.  Was Hermione _ever_ going to sleep in her own bed?

 

Ginny tried not to be bitter, but Goddamn it, she was bitter.  She woke up, in the middle of the night, to find Hermione gone.  Which was fine, but then she wasn’t in the loo, or the drawing room, or in the kitchen, _or_ the third floor library, so then Ginny went to wake up Ron and Harry because she was starting to get worried and …

 

This was absolutely the _last_ time Ginny is going to worry about either her stupid brother or his two prat best friends.  Ginny was bloody sick of it.  It wasn’t finding Hermione with Ron that bothered her.  That was just funny.  It was finding Hermione sleeping with Ron, with Harry in the next bed, like one big happy family.  The trio reunited.  Once again leaving Ginny alone.

 

Every time Ginny allowed herself to believe that things would actually be different, that she was actually accepted … well, obviously, she just needed to stop trying.  Ginny had her own friends, boyfriends even.  She had a life, without her brother and Harry Potter, and it was about time she started acting like it.

 

When Hermione finally slipped into the room, it was just about dawn.  She was obviously trying to be incredibly quiet so as to not be discovered, so when she saw Ginny sitting up and staring at her, she jumped about a foot.  Felling guilty, was she?  _Good_.

 

And Ginny was going to lead her own life just as soon as she tortured Hermione for abandoning her.  “Have a good night?” she asked coolly.

 

Like a child caught with her hand in the sweet tin, Hermione sputtered wordlessly.  This in itself was suspicious.  Hermione Granger was cool and collected in a crisis, never at a loss for words, and she lied like a champ.  She was nearly, but not quite, as good at lying as Ginny, but, then again, Ginny was the best. 

 

So, there must be something else Hermione was hiding.  Like an early morning snog, perhaps?  Ginny’s eyes narrowed on her victim.  “So, where’ve you been?”

 

“I, um, just ran to the loo—”

 

“Really, ‘cause I thought that was you curled up like a little baby kitten in my brother’s bed last night.”  Once Hermione looked like she was going to hyperventilate, Ginny went in for the kill.  “So, when _exactly_ did you and Ron become a couple?” she asked, her voice dripping with all the bile inside her. 

 

Hermione sighed, sitting on the edge of her own bed, across from Ginny.  “We’re not.  Honest.”

 

Ginny gave a disbelieving snort.  She couldn’t believe this.  How gullible did Hermione think she was?  Disappointment turned Ginny’s stomach sour.  She’d really thought that she and Hermione had more of a friendship than this.

 

“Look, Hermione, you’ve been caught sleeping with Ron three out of the last four nights, and the fourth night, no one slept.  You ‘secretly’ hold hands behind your back.  You disappear together, and yesterday, your lips were so swollen, from what was _obviously_ a vigorous snogging session, that it looked as though you used an engorgement charm.  So, if our friendship means _anything_ to you—”

 

“Ginny, _please_ ,” Hermione pleaded, looking a touch nauseated.  “All those things are true, but—” Ginny cut her off with a scathing look.  Hermione swallowed and cautiously crossed the room to sit next to the younger girl.  “Promise me, you won’t say anything to anyone.  Not Harry.  Not _anyone_.”

 

Hermione was using the magic words, luring Ginny in with the promise of secrets shared.  It wasn’t fair.  Ginny really didn’t want to give in, but it was fundamentally against her character not to.  She nodded.

 

“And you won’t judge?”

 

Ginny’s eyes widened with curiosity.  Judge?  Was this juicer than she had thought or

was Hermione just being overly dramatic?  She’d never admit it, but the older girl did have the flare.  And Hermione _was_ on the innocent side.  “Yes, ok.  Just tell me.”

 

Hermione took a deep breath, then started speaking in a rush, “So, we have, um, you know, kissed a couple of times.  But we’re _not_ together.  We’re just … practicing.”  She grimaced, waiting for a response.

 

“Practicing?” Ginny all but screeched.  “Practicing what?”

 

Hermione looked positively terrified as she whimpered, “Um, kissing and such.”

 

Astonishment gave way to confusion, which gave way to rage.  “Are you telling me that my no good brother is snogging you, but won’t _date_ you?”

 

“No!”  Hermione denied quickly, too quickly.  “Well, I dunno … I … it was _my_ idea.”  Ginny almost fell off the bed.  “No, listen.  I … Ron’s not ready to be in a real relationship, per se.  It’s obvious.  If I were to push him, he’d just run.”  Hermione was wringing her hands, her eyes practically begging Ginny to understand.

 

The younger girl nodded slowly.  It sounded like the most daft thing Ginny had ever heard, but knowing Hermione, wherever this was going, it had to be good.

 

Hermione’s face screwed up into a wince as she spilled out, “So, I figured if I offered to practice and we started, you know, _snogging_ on a regular basis, with that and our friendship, he couldn’t help but … fall in love with me?” she finished with a whimper.

 

Ginny blinked several times.  “Are you joking?”  It was obvious that Hermione wasn’t joking.  Ginny rubbed her forehead.  She was developing a headache.  “Let me get this straight.  You want to be in a relationship with my brother, but not call it a relationship, because that might scare him?”

 

“Um, sort of.”

 

“And you figure if you can keep it up, then he’ll realize he—”    

 

“—can’t live without me—”

 

“—and want a real relationship?”

 

“That’s the general idea.”

 

“Well, that’s actually,” Ginny paused, staring at her friend, trying to take it all in, “quite brilliant, really.  You sure have bollocks, I’ll say that for you.  This could either work out fantastically—”

 

 “—or be an utter disaster.”  Hermione worried her lip, looking to Ginny for reassurance.  Ginny actually felt sorry for her.

 

“Well, then,” Ginny said brightly, feeling loads better.  For herself, at least.  Nicely included.  “Let’s go get breakfast and see how this plan of yours goes.”

 

“Um, shouldn’t we shower first?”

 

“And lose that sexy bed-rumpled look?  Not on your life.”

                                   

 

 

 

                                                            * * * * *

 

 

 

When Hermione and Ginny arrived at the kitchen, Ron and Harry were already eating and apparently it wasn’t Ron’s first helping.  The twins looked up and grinned evilly as Hermione entered the room.  Oh dear.  This was _not_ good.

 

“Ginny and Hermione down to breakfast after the blokes.  The world’s gone all out of whack, hasn’t it, George?”  Fred smirked wickedly and Hermione willed herself not to blush.  Why should she blush, anyway?  She was only a few minutes late for breakfast.  There was nothing embarrassing about that.  And what were the twins still doing at Grimmauld Place anyway?  Didn’t they have their own flat?

 

“I do wonder, Fred,” His twin remarked with exaggerated calm.  “What could be making our little Hermione and Ronald act _so_ out of character?” 

 

Clearly, they were here expressly to torture her.  There was no stopping Hermione’s blush this time, especially since Ginny pushed her into the chair next to Ron’s before rounding the table and sitting across from her, next to Harry.  Real subtle, Ginny was.  Hermione hoped her glare properly expressed how _much_ her help was appreciated.

 

Ok, don’t panic.  It was just breakfast.  As long as this wasn’t bothering Ron.  Oh heavens, what if it was bothering Ron?  Would he start avoiding her in public?  Would he change his mind about Practicing?  Hermione swallowed and carefully snuck a glance at the boy next to her, only to find Ron smiling and looking at her with a new sort of light in his eye.  It burned straight through her and started her heart fluttering.  She smiled back shyly.  Oh _my_.

 

“Kneazle got your tongue, Hermione?” Fred called, but she decided that her best course of action was to ignore the twins completely, so instead of responding, she reached over to pick up a glass of pumpkin juice and found her palms sweaty.  Oh God.  If she dropped the juice, it would be beyond humiliating.

 

When Hermione didn’t answer, George threw in cheekily, “No, that was Ron.”

 

Hermione didn’t drop her juice, but she did choke on it, prompting Ron to flare with anger and bite out, “Shut it,” while he rubbed her back.  Oh well, that wasn’t so bad.  Some might even say it was worth it.

 

“Boys!  That is _quite_ enough.”  Mrs. Weasley approached the table and sat, slamming down her utensils and mug.  Her children exchanged wary glances.  Hermione wondered if she had missed something or if Mrs. Weasley was still fuming over the whole Adrianna issue.  Someone should be.

 

Then Ron’s knee bumped into hers.  What was she thinking about again?  Hermione smiled into the eggs Dobby had so kindly brought her, wondering if the bump was an accident.  Ron tapped her again and this time his leg stayed firmly pressed against hers.  Definitely _not_ an accident.  Ok, so _maybe_ Ginny had the right idea after all.

 

“Morning,” Harry called as Adrianna entered the room and came to sit on the other side of him.  She was impeccably, and _inappropriately_ , as far as Hermione was concerned, dressed in professional robes.

 

A touch of Hermione’s happiness left as she frowned at the older witch.  Adrianna represented everything bad that happened this summer.  Was she going to be around all the time now?

 

“Morning,” Adrianna responded tiredly.  “Owls here yet?”

 

“Morning,” Charlie immediately echoed, fixing Adrianna with a hot gaze and a cheeky smile that made Hermione blush from the intensity of it.

 

Adrianna was less affected.  She merely rolled her eyes and thanked Dobby for the stack of letters he produced, which was very rude in Hermione’s judgment.  Not thanking Dobby, of course.  _That_ was all right, but Adrianna could at least acknowledge Charlie.  No matter what he had done in the past.  Which Hermione was certain was absolutely _nothing_.

 

 “Yes, yes.  Morning to all.  Enough of the ‘mornings’,” Mrs. Weasley snipped irritably, slamming a plate of food in front of Adrianna, and earning a barely perceptible wince from the witch.  “I suppose _you_ , as an American, prefer coffee.”

 

“It doesn’t matter,” Adrianna responded cautiously, but Molly had already banged a mug down, sloshing the coffee over the edge.  Then she stomped back over to the other side of the kitchen.

 

Adrianna looked the food over warily, as if deciding whether or not it was poisoned, before going back to her stack of letters.  Reading the first, she reached over absently and waved her wand over the coffee, muttering something softly.  The drink became soft and frothy.  Mrs. Weasley hadn’t seen it, which was a shame, as it seemed all together disrespectful to Hermione to transfigure the food and drink one was served.

 

Glancing up to take a sip, Adrianna met Charlie’s eyes as he stared at her across the table.  Adrianna looked him over as she drank, her eyes finally resting on his mug.  Frowning, she said, “What are you …?  You hate coffee.”

      

 “Of course, he likes coffee,” Molly harrumphed, sitting down with a flourish at the end of the table and attacking her food with a knife.

 

Charlie ignored his mother, shrugging and staring intently at the witch across from him. “I hate tea more.”

 

“Charlie, you _know_ how to fix it,” Adrianna told him impatiently.  Hermione rolled her eyes.  What was the big deal anyway?  Just let the man drink his coffee.  Did Adrianna have to interfere with everything?

 

“It doesn’t taste right when I do it.”  Charlie was looking at her … was he _pouting_?  Wasn’t he something like twelve years older than Ron?

 

Adrianna gave Charlie a long suffering look, seeming to struggle with herself for a minute before raising her wand again and waving it over his mug, changing its color and consistency.  Then, she purposefully went back to reading her letters.

 

Charlie had an odd look on his face as he hesitantly picked up the mug and took a sip.  Swallowing, he closed his eyes and sighed.  “Do you know how much I missed you?” he whispered. 

 

Adrianna didn’t look up from her letters, but a small smiled crossed her face and for a fraction of a second, Hermione thought she saw her throat work.  The older witch wasn’t as immune to Charlie’s charms as she pretended.  Hermione frowned into her breakfast.  She couldn’t get her mind wrapped around Adrianna.  She was a mass of contradictions and none of it made sense.

 

Hermione needed to be more vigilant in her evidence gathering.  Especially since it appeared that Ginny had stopped trying.  Maybe Hermione should join forces with Mrs. Weasley.  If she … if she could just concentrate on something _other_ than the knee that was sending shivers through her entire body.

 

The sounds of enthusiastic Weasley eating followed, broken only by the flipping of the pages of letters and the _Daily Prophet._ Hermione desperately wanted to ask Charlie for his unused pages, but that would only further distract her.  It was difficult enough to keep one eye on Adrianna with Ron next to her.  As it was, Hermione had to constantly remind herself to eat.

 

But Adrianna caught Hermione’s attention completely when she broke into a broad grin.  She tapped Harry with the piece of parchment she was holding and looked at him expectantly.  Hermione’s anxiety rose. 

 

Harry’s eyes widened and he swallowed nervously.  Carefully wiping his hands on a napkin, he took the letter with something like reverence.  Almost immediately, his face transformed into a huge grin.  His obvious happiness made Hermione’s heart flip over.  She really wished she could trust Adrianna.

 

“You did it,” Harry breathed, as though he didn’t really believe it.  Whatever _it_ was.

 

“Easy as pie,” Adrianna responded lightly, her arrogance grating on Hermione’s last nerve.

 

“What is it, Harry?” Hermione called as casually as she could manage. 

 

Still smiling, Harry handed the letter to Hermione.  She swallowed as she took it and Ron leaned over eagerly to read with her.  Hermione gasped at the words in front of her.  Oh dear _God_.

 

“Adrianna got guardianship of you,” Ron burst out enthusiastically and Hermione would have thrown him a scathing look if her eyes hadn’t been glued to the page.  It couldn’t be real.  It was a joke.  “That’s brilliant, mate.”

 

Hermione did glare at Ron for that.  _Brilliant_?  What was wrong with him?

 

“What?  How?” Mrs. Weasley gasped, flying over to wrench the letter from Hermione’s hands as a general wave of congratulations came from the rest of the treacherous Weasley lot.

 

“Surprisingly easily,” Adrianna stated casually, “seems as though any magical relative trumps a Muggle one.”  The bint smiled smugly at Mrs. Weasley.

 

“But, but …” Molly sputtered, “you’re _foreign_.”

 

Adrianna’s eyes flashed, but her tone didn’t betray any anger.  “Not according to your Ministry.  My father being from a long and distinguished _English_ wizarding-line makes me as British as the Queen.  In their eyes, anyway.”

 

Charlie snapped his paper down.  There was another flash of intensity in his eyes as he looked at Adrianna, but it quickly melted into an easy smile.  “And as old as our laws are, and your mother being a Muggle, they likely don’t count the American half at all.”

 

Adrianna chuckled bitterly as she went back to her letters.  But Hermione was stunned.  Was that a joke?  If it was, it wasn’t very funny.  Did they really not _count_ Muggle parents?

 

“Still,” Mr. Weasley said, off-handedly, the letter finally having made its way around to him, “ _this_ must have taken some maneuvering.”

 

“Not really.  This one on the other hand,” Adrianna passed another letter to Harry, “took a bit of finagling.”

 

Harry choked on his eggs, coughing as he struggled to keep his eyes open and on the letter.  Hermione’s shoulders tensed in anticipation.  Adrianna laughed lightly as she rubbed her cousin’s back and said, “Breathe.” 

 

“Shite,” Harry gasped.

 

“Harry!” Mrs. Weasley admonished, looking at Adrianna accusatorily, as if Harry’s bad manners were a direct result of her care of him, which Hermione was sure they _were_.

 

“How?” Harry asked, after he had regained his breath, ignoring Mrs. Weasley and concentrating on his cousin.  “You never said anything.”

 

“I didn’t want to get your hopes up.”

 

Ginny finally leaned over from her seat next to Harry and read the letter.  She could have done that _minutes_ ago!  What was …?  Ginny’s eyes became saucer-wide.  “Sirius’ been pardoned?  You can _do_ that?” she gasped in disbelief.

 

“So it seems,” Adrianna said, as if it were no big deal, as if it weren’t something they had been trying to accomplish for _ages_.

 

The room erupted again, louder this time.  The news drove Mr. Weasley out of his seat.  “This is … Kingsley said this could take years and now that Sirius is gone it was unlikely to be worth the time and attention in would bring.” 

 

“Yeah, well, with Sirius dead, they probably figured it wouldn’t be worth pissing me off to refuse,” Adrianna muttered dryly, drinking her coffee. 

 

“But how?  You’d have to have proof of his innocence,” Hermione argued heatedly.

 

Adrianna smiled that damn smug smile again.  “I told them he was innocent.  _That_ was my proof.”

 

Hermione couldn’t help but snort and Mrs. Weasley echoed the sentiment with a scoff.  But Charlie turned to his mother, saying, “You’d be surprised what an Empath’s word is worth.  In most countries, once they’re registered, their word stands up as the highest level of evidence.”

 

Molly looked as horrified as Hermione, herself, felt.  In a small voice, Mrs. Weasley asked Adrianna, “And I suppose you’re registered in Britain?”

 

“Since I was five.”

 

“Couldn’t you just lie?” Fred inquired, seeming to be genuinely curious as he chewed on some bacon.  He _would_ think of such a thing.  Though, it was an excellent point.  Hermione wouldn’t put it past the witch to do just that to get what she wanted.

 

Adrianna shrugged.  “I could.  It really wouldn’t be worth the punishment if they found out, though.  Plus, I’d lose all credibility and my registrations.”

 

“So, you just walked in, said Sirius was innocent, and they pardoned him?” Ginny asked, incredulous.

 

“Not exactly,” Adrianna responded, looking a bit more serious.  “It took some maneuvering, the calling in of a few favors.”

 

Charlie grinned wider, leaning over the table to look at her conspiratorially.  “Doesn’t hurt that the new head of the Auror Department is someone who _loves_ doing you favors.”

 

This time Adrianna shared a delighted smile with her old _friend_.  “I’m sure when Fudge appointed him, he had no idea that Carter was a close personal friend.”  They laughed together and Hermione had to suppress the urge to gag.

 

“ _Well_ ,” Mrs. Weasley exclaimed, slamming down her tea for emphasis, “this is highly irresponsible of you.  Having Sirius pardoned in this way will only bring attention to the Order.  They didn’t even know he was killed—”

 

“They knew,” Adrianna interrupted heatedly.  “Carter knows exactly what happened at the Department of Mysteries.  Do you think your Aurors are completely incompetent?  If they chose to, they could have used Sirius’ status as a criminal to fire Kingsley and Tonks, and throw everyone else in prison.”

 

Mrs. Weasley turned red as the room was stunned into silence.  “Would they do that?” Ron finally asked, trepidation heavy in his voice.

 

“Carter wouldn’t, but Fudge …”  Adrianna shrugged, frowning into her coffee.  “I wouldn’t put anything past him.” 

 

As the group digested this, Adrianna flipped through the pages of parchment in her hands.  After a moment, she glanced up and said off-handedly, “Then there’s the fact that if Sirius remained a criminal, then all his worldly goods, including _this_ house, the Headquarters of the Order of Phoenix, would revert to the Ministry.”  She looked pointedly at Molly, who just glared at her with narrowed eyes.

 

“So, who gets Grimmauld Place now, Adrianna?” Ginny asked, as though this were the most fascinating of conversations.  It astounded Hermione how quickly she had flipped sides.

 

“We’ll see at 1:30.  We have a reading of the will at the Ministry.”  Adrianna handed a third letter to Harry, before staking the rest in a neat pile and folding them up.

 

“Hey,” Harry cried as he looked up at Ron, beaming.  “The whole lot of us are in the will.”

 

Ron’s eyes popped out and he quickly leaned over the table, snatching the letter out of Harry’s hand.  “Brilliant,” he murmured as he read.  Hermione looked over and, sure enough, both their names were there.  Brilliant, indeed. 

 

“So, you kids had a better get ready,” Adrianna instructed.  “We need to be at the Ministry at 10am.”  Hermione sat there in shock as the boys grinned and sprang from the table.  Who was Adrianna to tell _her_ what to—?

 

“I don’t think so,” Molly contradicted sternly.  “The children are safe here.  They aren’t going _anywhere_!”

 

“Mum!”  Ron whipped around just as he was about to climb the stairs, bursting out in a wine, “You can’t … I’m going!”  He crossed his arms and glowered at his mother, who began to turn still redder at the show of defiance from her youngest son.

 

“If it will help you feel better, Mum,” Charlie offered casually, _too_ casually, “I could accompany them.”

 

Adrianna narrowed her eyes at him.  “I’m sure that won’t be necessary,” she quickly argued.  “If your father would be so kind as to escort us there, I’m sure the Ministry itself is quite safe.  Besides,” she continued coyly, “Hermione will be there to keep an eye on me, Molly.  I can assure you, she has the same agenda as yourself.  While Charlie’s … well, his is _quite_ different.”

 

Mrs. Weasley growled and Charlie glared.  Adrianna looked calm, but if one looked closely enough, she seemed to be holding her breath.  Hermione wondered if anyone was going to ask for her opinion as her presence played heavily in the decision making here.

 

“Fine,” Molly snapped, throwing down her napkin.  “Do what you want, then.”  With that, she got up from the table and stormed from the room.

 

After she left, Mr. Weasley took a deep, long-suffering breath, along with one last sip of tea, and stood.  “We leave in half an hour, children,” he muttered as he left, presumably to find his wife.

 

Harry and Ron grinned at each other as they, again, racing up the stairs.  Hermione frowned after them and then back at Adrianna.  The cocky witch knew that there was no way out for Hermione now.  Reluctantly, she began to follow the boys.

 

“Ginny?”  Adrianna called to the girl who was spearing her eggs with her fork in a violent manner.  “Are you going to get ready?” Ginny froze, her eyes flying to the older woman’s.  “Before your mother changes her mind would be good.” 

 

Ginny smiled and ran to the stairs.  Hermione rolled her eyes as she passed her.  Was _everyone_ thrilled about this ridiculous trip?

 

“Isn’t that just the thing?  The little pip-squeaks get all the luck,” Fred gripped, nudging his twin and scowling after them.

 

George nodded.  “Not like honest blokes like ourselves, who _work_ for a living.”

 

With one last look back, Hermione grudgingly ascended the stairs.  She just made out Adrianna saying as she left, “Well, if you two have any time today, I have something you might really enjoy.”

 

Hermione groaned.  What was she up to _now_?

 

 

 

 

* * * * *

           

 

 

               

Ron Weasley was bored.  History of Magic bored.

 

He couldn’t believe what he had stood up to his mother for.  Ron had risked sudden death and a summer of magic-less toilet scrubbing, for _this_.  When he could have stayed home and spent the afternoon bettering himself, by Practicing with Hermione.

 

But no, Ron’s greedy, deprived self had to go to Sirius’ will reading, couldn’t wait until Adrianna and Harry got home to find out.  Oh no.  It wasn’t like Sirius was going to leave Ron Grimmauld Place.  He probably left him the stuffed elves’ heads or a pile of petrified spiders.  That was just Sirius’ sense of humor.

 

Their little excursion had been hell since the moment they stepped into the reception area.  Why had none of them realized before they left that the last time they had been here had been the Department of Mysteries incident? 

 

Harry frozen as soon as the lobby statue came into view.  And all Ron could think was, fuck, Harry fought Voldemort _here_ , only two months ago.  Then, of course, he realized that nine floors down Hermione had almost died. 

 

Hermione was hit by the killing curse.  Hermione had almost died.  The words repeated over and over in his mind.  Ron was sure nothing would make the litany stop.  Unfortunately, he was wrong.  He should have known better than to underestimate Hermione. 

 

Their next stop was the wand registry and instead of turning over her wand Adrianna flashed some sort of Diplomatic I-Can-Do-Whatever-I-Bloody-Well-Want Card.  Only it wouldn’t have said ‘bloody’ because she was a sodding American.  It would have said … bloody hell, Ron didn’t fucking care what Americans said.  The point was, it really hacked Hermione off.  Really, _really_ hacked her off.

 

Only she went all prissy about it and “in the Ministry of Magic one is respectful.”  Or maybe Hermione just got the point that she needed to leave Harry and Adrianna the hell alone, because she didn’t say _one word_ to them.  She even managed to control her classic I’m-so-mad-I-could-spit face, and look serious and serene.  To the outside observer.

 

Instead, Hermione started this constant running commentary under her breath.  To Ron.  Why not Ginny?  He’d never know.  Maybe because Ginny seemed to be completely over her Anti-Adrianna phase, smiling and entertaining Harry and his cousin with stories of Dad’s escapades in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Department. 

 

Cheerfully, Ginny asked Adrianna questions and generally seemed to be enjoying their little trip into hell.  So, while the little trio had a grand old time, Ron held back and was attentive to Hermione’s mutterings.

 

 “Who does she think she is with her _diplomatic_ privilege?”  “You know, it would have been a sign of good will just to let them register her wand.”  “What is she hiding, anyway?”  “There’s something suspicious about her wand.  It certainly doesn’t look like any wand _I’ve_ ever seen.”  “Do you think there is some really dark magical ingredient?  Maybe werewolf hair or vampire teeth _or_ a baby unicorn horn.  I bet that’s it.  It’s really powerful, the darkest of magic.”

 

With that last one Ron froze in the hallway and gave her a look that hopefully fully expressed his disbelief and frustration.

 

Hermione rolled her eyes, muttering, “Fine, she may not a baby unicorn killer, but she _is_ hiding something.”

 

Well, at least with Hermione’s incessant prattle it was virtually impossible to think about her dead or dying.  Instead, all Ron could think about was how he wanted to shut her up.  More precisely, the exact method of how he wanted to shut her up.  Like by shoving his tongue down her throat.  Shite, he was a pervert. 

 

But Ron barely had the chance to taste the insides of her mouth the last time.  _That_ had been amazing.  Practicing would most certainly include mastering that particular skill, wouldn’t it?

 

So, as they walked through the hallowed halls of the Ministry, Ron pretended to be intently listening to Hermione as, all the while, he scouted for private corners that he would never actually use.  Urgh!  He wanted to push her up against the nearest wall.  It had been fantastic yesterday, but this time he wanted to pick her up, so her legs were—

 

 “Ron,” the object of his obsession hissed.  “Are you listening?”

 

“Yes,” Ron immediately responded, as if it were completely obvious that he was, even though most certainly _wasn’t_.  “You’re right.  It’s highly suspicious.”  Hermione nodded, satisfied with his guess, and went directly back to her tirade.

 

Thankfully, it finally stopped when they were lead into the Family Affairs Office of the Wizengamot.  But instead of the relief Ron expected to feel, he found himself missing Hermione’s prattle as they sat down for the most boring five hours of Ron’s life. 

 

All right, so it wasn’t _exactly_ forty-three minutes.  But why in the world would it even take _that_ long?  Just let them sign the damn papers, for God’s sake.  No one else wants guardianship of the boy.  The Dursleys’ were going to throw a party and no one else should even care.  In Ron’s opinion, anyway.  It was Harry and Adrianna’s business and no one else’s. 

 

Though, Ron planned on keeping that particular opinion to himself.  There were really important things on the line here.  Like Practice.  He figured out that if he leaned his head on his hand, with his elbow on the armrest, he could stare at Hermione to his heart’s content, all the while, merely looking bored to death.

 

He loved the way her thoughts played out on her face.  One didn’t need to be an Empath to see what Hermione was thinking.  When she was particularly annoyed at something that had been said, her brows furrowed and her lips pursed, making her adorably kissable.  But Ron’s favorite was when she got this faraway, thwarted look because her features evened out and her lower lip protruded in the sexiest way possible.

 

He wanted to bite it.  Gently, of course.  And suck it into his mouth, run his tongue over it.  Ron could do that now.  He had permission.  They were _Practicing_.  “Practicing.”  It was his favorite word in the English language.  Meant he could do whatever he wanted.

 

Whoa there, down boy.  Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.  The things he _really_ wanted to do with Hermione couldn’t be placed under the heading of Practice.  Could they?  Exactly how far could Practicing go?

 

Was it just kissing?  Maybe a heavy snog?  Ron knew that there were a lot of things included under the heading of a snog in certain circles.  A lot of wandering hands and, oh, his _really_ wanted to wander.  But beyond that … he bit back a groan at the possibilities.

 

Ron purposefully reminded himself how much he cared for and respected Hermione.  He shouldn’t do anything with her that he wouldn’t let someone else … fuck, if someone else did anything that he had _already_ done with Hermione, he’d beat the shite outta them, even if they were dating, which Ron and Hermione were not.  For the first time, he was disappointed at that.

 

No.  Ron just needed to concentrate on now, no future beyond the next Practice session.  The future held too many awful possibilities.  And no thinking about other blokes with his Hermione, either.  Those thoughts could only lead to surliness and depression, possibly embarrassing, unexplainable outbursts.  Crap, this was the longest meeting of all time.

 

Then the meeting was over and Ron wished that it wasn’t, because Hermione had a whole lot of complaining stored up and now he couldn’t stare at her quite as much.  They made their way to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, passing a dim hallway that would be just perfect for a little Practice break.  But instead, Ron had to keep walking until they finally paused outside a door that read, “Auror Headquarters.”  

 

Adrianna turned to them and in a quiet, but forceful tone, stated, “I’ve got a very important meeting and the four of you are going to have to wait here.  I can’t stress enough how important this is, so I expect _all_ of you to be on your best behavior, which means,” she looked pointedly at Hermione, “the litany of complaints will have to wait until later.”

 

Scanning the rest of them, Adrianna gave them each a private warning look.  “And no snooping and no touching strange objects and _no_ ,” she looked at Ron, “sneaking away because you’re bored.”  Great!  Just when Ron thought that this trip couldn’t possibly get worse. 

 

They were all tense as they walked past the rows of cubicles and came to an important looking oak door with yet another sign.  “Flavian R. Carter, Auror Director.”  Charlie mentioned him earlier as a personal friend of Adrianna’s, but Ron remembered his father talking about the Director, or rather gossiping.  There were multiple complaints that ran ramped with Mr. Weasley and his friends.  He was a lackey for Fudge, far too young to be Director, spent far too little time in Britain, etc., etc.

 

Adrianna knocked on the door and a burly blond bloke, with a receding hairline came to the door.  “Miss Potter, I’ve been expecting you.  Please, come in,” he offered in a cool professional tone.

 

Ron started to get uncomfortable as soon as they stepped into the large, opulent office.  Inside, there was a heavy mahogany desk covered with various artifacts and surrounded by a half dozen armchairs.  The walls were lined with cabinets, adorned with symbols, and shelves covered in foreign-appearing objects.  On the other side of the room was a large oval table covered with parchment.

 

Once the Director had closed the door, he turned to Adrianna and his face transformed into a large, youthful smile.  “‘Drana, love, you look wonderful!” he gushed, quickly crossing the room and embracing her warmly.

 

Adrianna relaxed noticeably the minute the door was closed, looking softer and less on edge than Ron had ever seen her.  He hadn’t even realized that she’d _been_ on edge before.  “Carter,” she said affectionately, smiling as she stepped back from the embrace.

 

 “Wow.  Look at you, twenty-eight years old.  I knew you’d be the one to do it.”

 

“Yes, well …”  No sooner had the usual bitter edge left her voice and it was back again.  Adrianna looked away, avoiding eye contact and purposefully perusing his office.  “Look at _this_ , quite up and coming.  Or is it up and came.”

 

Carter laughed merrily, giving the teenagers a grin that rather reminded Ron of Lockhart and consequently made him ill.  “Well, considering I got this job because every Auror based in Britain had too much of a connection to Dumbledore to make Fudge comfortable, I suppose it’s not too shabby.  But speaking of my fabulous boss,” he sobered as his eyes went to Harry, “he’s been wrong about everything, then.”

 

“Yup,” Adrianna answered easily.  Then quickly made introductions.  A soft harrumph from Hermione told Ron that it wasn’t soon enough for her.

 

Carter greeted them with hard handshakes, ending with Harry.  “So, Harry, what is the _real_ truth, then?” 

 

Harry faltered, looking around at the others.  “Um, well, _the Quibbler_ article was pretty accurate.”

 

“I see.”  Carter shared a meaningful look with Adrianna before sighing and saying, “We had better get you to your meeting.  You kids can hang around my office.  I’ll be back in just a bit.”

 

Adrianna gave them one last warning look on her way out the door.  And then they were alone.  Hermione seemed fairly ready to burst with commentary.  Luckily, she had the sense to keep them to herself.

 

Then, not a minute later, Hermione called softly, “Harry.”  Well, maybe not too much sense.  “Are you really _sure_ about this whole guardianship thing?” 

 

Harry’s eyes whipped to hers, snapping harshly, “ _Yes_!  And … and it’s _done_!”  He averted his gaze, turning away from her and stalking toward the window, his arms tightly crossed.  Hermione drooped, staring at his back with a scowl.

 

Fun.  Fun.  Ron threw himself into a chair.  Hermione was pouting again, distracting him with that ruddy lip.  He wished they were anywhere but here.  He was finally able to do something about his fantasies and—Hermione caught her lip in her teeth and gnawed on it.  Just like Ron wanted to do.  When she sucked it into her mouth, he just about exploded.

 

Ron shot to his feet.  “I need to go to the loo.”  He grabbed Hermione’s wrist and pulled.  “You know where one is, don’t you?”  Before he knew it, they were halfway out the door.

 

 “Um, ok,” Hermione stammered, tripping in her attempt to keep up.

 

Ginny and Harry had astonished looks on their faces and his sister called out, “Don’t be daft.  That makes no—”

 

While Harry simultaneously cried, “Ron, Adrianna said—”

 

Ron never heard the end of their reprimands.  He was already out the door and down the hallway.  He didn’t stop until he had found that dimly lit hallway he had been so inspired by earlier and yanked Hermione into it.  Turning to look at her, Ron grinned broadly, feeling absurdly proud of himself.  He had done it.  He was _doing_ it.  He was taking charge of these _urges_ in side of him.

        

“Oh, good, Ron.  We really do need to talk about this.  What do you make of this Mr. Carter fellow?  It’s all—”

 

“Hermione,” Ron interrupted, the side of his mouth quirking upward as he stepped closer to her.  “I didn’t pull you out here to talk about Adrianna.”

 

She frowned at that, her brow creasing with suspicion and her lips piercing.  “Then why?”  Hermione’s tone implied that she was afraid of the answer.

 

Ron leaned over her, backing her against the wall.  He felt a surge of power as he drawled huskily, “I brought you up here because you’re driving me around the bend.”

 

Hermione’s face transformed into a look of hurt, which was quickly masked by anger.  “You’re taking her side,” she accused.  “Again.”

 

“Hermione, I’m not taking sides.  Actually, I couldn’t care less of a sodding damn.  But …” He touched her lower lip with his thumb, gliding the pad over the wet surface.  What was he trying to say again?

 

“Ron?”  Hermione sounded breathless.  She was looking up at him with melting chocolate eyes.  He’d always loved chocolate.  “What are you _doing_?”

 

He smiled.  _That_ question he could answer.  “What I’ve wanted to do all day.  Practice.”  Ron leaned down and kissed her lower lip.  Brilliant.

 

“Ron, we’re in the Ministry hallway,” Hermione gasped, a hysterical edge to her voice.  She didn’t pull away, though.

 

He smiled against her lip.  “Uh huh.”  And he loved it.  Liberating, was what it was.  Ron sucked that amazing lower lip into his mouth and Hermione moaned.  Now, _this_ was how Ron wanted to spend the afternoon.

 

 

 

 

* * * * *

 

           

 

 

Harry stared in astonishment at the door Hermione and Ron had just disappeared through, his anger slowly rising.  “I can’t believe them,” he breathed, more to himself than anything. 

 

Hermione’s surly complaining was one thing, at least she’d had the grace to keep her voice low, but that both of them would risk … didn’t they understand how important all of this was to Harry?

 

“Yeah, Ron does have the lamest excuses in history.  Pathetic, really.  I mean the loo?  He’s taking Hermione to the _loo_?  I’m ashamed to say we’re blood,” Ginny said, with a snort.  Though judging by the curious way she was perusing the room, she wasn’t too terribly concerned.

 

Harry clenched his teeth, muttering, “If their rowing causes—”

 

Ginny gave a bark of a laugh, throwing Harry an incredulous look.

 

His brow wrinkled.  Then his eyes widened.  If they weren’t …?  Was Ginny implying …?  “What?  You don’t think …?  Oh my God.  You don’t think they’re in the hallway _snogging_ do you?”  Harry couldn’t keep the look of disgust from his face.  The image of Ron and Hermione snogging in private was bad enough.

 

Ginny look was both amused and knowing, telling Harry that was _precisely_ what she thought without bothering with words.

 

 “Shite,” Harry muttered, rubbing his eyes.  How could they be so irresponsible?  Well, yeah.  But how could _Hermione_ be so irresponsible?

 

“ _Wrock! Wrock_!”

 

“Oops,” Ginny quickly set down an odd, bird-shaped statue that she had lifted from the Director’s desk.

 

“Ginny!  We can’t,” Harry burst out, horrified.  Had everyone gone completely mad?  Were they going to ignore everything that Adrianna said?  The least they could do is wait ten minutes to at least pretend they were going to follow the rules.

 

“What?” Ginny asked with a mischievous grin.  “When will we ever get to be in the _Director_ of the Auror Department’s office again?  And besides, with Ron and Hermione out there doing whatever, it doesn’t matter what we do, we’ll still look good.” 

 

The look she gave him was both challenging and impish.  Harry was starting to find he had a weakness for that look.  “I won’t touch,” Ginny cajoled.  “See, my hands are behind my back.”  He smiled at her hesitatingly, not wanting her to know how easily she’d won, before joined her in the carefully examination of the room.

 

 “Hey, Harry look at this,” Ginny pointed out the window.  “Is that the Acropolis?”

 

Harry came over next to Ginny and peered out the picture window behind Carter’s desk.  The view was amazing.  “Naw, that’s the forum, I think.  It’s Rome.  Look, there’s the Coliseum.”

 

Ginny sighed, saying wistfully, “Must be nice.”

 

“Traveling is brilliant.”  Harry murmured, remembering how exciting his summer had been.  He turned to glance at Ginny and was surprised to find a yearning, almost sad look on her face.  It was strange how much it bothered him.  It was as though he needed to _fix_ it for her.  “Someday, we’ll go to Rome.”

 

Her head whipped over, eyes wide with surprise.  Then Ginny laughed, teasing, “Oh, will we, now?”

 

Harry shrugged, trying to control his tell-tale blush, though the smile on her face seemed to be worth the embarrassment.  He looked out at the illusion again, a small smile on his face.  “If … if you want to, I’ll take you.  It’ll be fun.”

 

He didn’t know what possessed him to say that, but he meant it.  He couldn’t think of a better traveling companion.  He glanced at Ginny out of the corner of his eye and saw her looking at him strangely.  It made him nervous.  Harry purposefully turned and started his own inspection of the room, searching for balance. 

 

Looking over the surface of the massive mahogany cabinets, Harry noticed that they had the most amazing symbols etched on them and they changed as he watched.  For the first time, he regretted not taking Ancient Runes with Hermione.  Of course, if Hermione were _there_ , and not out doing God knows _what_ with Ron, it wouldn’t matter.

 

Annoyed all over again, Harry turned away and found Ginny staring, transfixed, at the maps scattered over the surface of the large oval table on the other side of the room.  They must be some maps, he thought, coming up behind her.

 

On top was a large and detailed map of Britain, its title reading, “Britain Based Aurors.”  There were small blue circles moving ever so slightly, almost vibrating in place.  Every once and a while, one would disappear and reappear in another city.

 

“Hey, look here,” Ginny pointed to a cluster of dots in London.  “‘NT,’ that must be Tonks and there’s ‘KS’ and ‘AM,’ Kingsley and Moody.  It’s a good thing this isn’t more detailed.  They could see into Grimmauld Place.”

 

Harry shook his head.  “Nah, they couldn’t, not with the Fidelius Charm.  They’d probably disappear off the map all together.  Maybe they’d show up there.”  He pointed to a place marked, “unaccounted for.”

 

“I hope not.  That’d be awfully suspicious.”

 

Harry frowned at the map, not particularly happy with any of the options.  Then he noticed the other maps underneath that one.  It couldn’t hurt to take a tiny peek.  He leafed through them.

 

“Hey, no touching,” Ginny teased.

 

Feeling guilty, Harry looked over at her.  Her grin was wicked and smug.  Somehow, making Harry want to … giving him the impulse to … hell, he didn’t know what came over him in that moment.

 

“Touching, huh,” Harry began playfully poking her shoulder and side.  Ginny pulled back and giggling uncontrollably, unintentionally encouraging him.  At least he _thought_ it was unintentional.  One never knew with Ginny.

 

“Stop!  I’m ticklish!”

 

Harry’s eyes lit up.  “Really?”  He’d never really tickled someone before.  Of course, he’d seen it done and, suddenly, it seemed the thing to do.  The most enjoyable thing in the world.

 

“Oh, no,” Ginny gasped as his fingers grazed her sides.  She ran, darting away to the other side of the table.  She gave him a playful “catch me if you can” look, making Harry raise his eyebrows.  He supposed that meant he should chase her.  Alright then. 

 

After a few minutes, they were both breathless and laughing.  It seemed odd that such a thing could be such fun.  Harry was leaning on the table to catch his breath and a map corner caught his eye. 

 

“Hey, Gin, look at this.”  Harry quickly pulled a map from the bottom of the pile.

 

The heading read, “International Auror Cooperation - Romanian Division.”  His heart beat erratically.  Somehow, Harry _knew_ there was something important here.  He rolled up the top maps quickly, looking at the map in its entirety.

 

“Harry, what are you …?”  Ginny asked, clearly confused at his sudden change.  She came to stand coming next to him, looking at the large world map.  Multicolored pin-point circles were scattered across it.  The largest group was in Romania.

 

Harry’s eyes found England, where a red dot was labeled, “AP.”  “Adrianna,” he breathed.

 

Ginny shook her head, “That can’t be.  She’s not British.”

 

 “No, look, there are people from all over the world.  They’re color coded.  See, red’s American, blue’s British.  There’s a blue dot in England as well …” he trailed off.  “‘CW,’” Harry whispered, feeling a bit as if he’d been punched in the gut.

 

“That’s _not_ possible,” Ginny said more insistently, her voice holding a bit a fear and maybe anger as well.

 

Harry looked her over intently, feeling the pieces begin to fall together.  “It would explain how Adrianna and Charlie know it each other and why they’re so secretive.”

 

“Harry, how could my brother be an Auror and we not know it?  It’s ridiculous.”  Ginny seemed to _want_ to believe what she was saying, but her tone a tad _too_ adamant.

 

He just shrugged in response.  Personally, Harry was no longer surprised at the secrets people kept, but he had no desire to be the one who destroyed Ginny’s faith in her family.

x

 _Harry’s_ head jerked and his heart rate accelerated as he heard the doorknob turn.  The two teenagers rushed to roll the other maps on top of the one they were reading.  They turned just in time to see Flavian Carter step back into his office.

 

Harry’s heart pounded in his ears.  What would happen if the Director realized they’d been looking at the map?  Oh, bloody hell.  If they hadn’t wanted them to look at the damn thing then they shouldn’t have left them alone with it.  What did they ruddy expect?

 

“There you are.  Sorry, I took so long,” Carter said with a winning smile.  “Here, come, sit.”  He gestured to the chairs in front of his desk.  “Where are the others?”  Harry gulped, as he sat, cursing his friends again for their marathon, ‘loo’ run. 

 

“Just stepped out to the lavatory,” Ginny said innocently, as she gracefully sat in a chair.  Harry looked at her in amazement.  Three months in Japan and he couldn’t control his emotions like she could.  Maybe he should be taking lessons from _her_.

 

Luckily, the Director just smiled kindly at them.  “So, Harry.  I hear you spent the summer in Japan.  Lucky boy.  Rare opportunity, you know.”  Carter prattled on heedlessly for awhile, saying nothing of importance, which was good because Harry’s thoughts were stuck on the damn map.

 

Harry had no idea how much time had passed before Adrianna returned, walking into the room with an austere gray-haired witch in pressed gray robes.  “I really do appreciate this, Madame Hopkirk, and I’m sure…”

 

His cousin faltered as she scanned the room and didn’t see Ron and Hermione.  Adrianna had a particular set to her jaw and an angry glint in her eye, but recovered quickly and continued with an even voice, “They will prove themselves.  As promised, this is my cousin, Harry, and Miss Ginevra Weasley.  The others are …”

 

Adrianna looked at Harry pointedly and gestured them over.  Damn them!  Harry opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out.  He was never going to forgive Ron and Hermione for this.

 

 “They just stepped out to the lavatory,” Ginny stated with expert pleasantness. “I’m sure they will be right back. ” She smiled sweetly as she politely greeted the woman.

 

Harry recovered and extended his hand as well.  A small, but genuine smile graced the witch’s face as she took his hand.  “It is, of course, a pleasure to finally meet you, Mr. Potter.  I’m sure that under your cousin’s guidance you will quite live up to our expectations.”

 

  1.   Expectations.  Harry just _loved_ those.



 

“Thank you again, Madam.  I don’t want to take up any more of your time.  I know you have important meetings.”  Adrianna stated courteously.

 

“Yes, I do.  A shame I couldn’t meet the others.  I’m sure there will be another time.”  With that. the woman shook Adrianna’s hand and glided out the door.

 

Adrianna pressed the door closed with a click, turning with fury clear on her face, and asking, “Where the _hell_ are Ron and Hermione?  Oh, never mind.”

 

 She closed her eyes and concentrated.  It was less than a minute before she opened her eyes with a snap.  Harry winced before she even spoke.  “Oh, they are _so_ dead.”

 

 

 

 

* * * * * *

 


	18. Behind the Wall

“Hermione, I’m not taking sides.  Actually, I couldn’t care less of a sodding damn.  But …”

 

Hermione froze as Ron ran his thumb over her bottom lip.  All thoughts of Adrianna and Auror Directors disappeared with a pop.  She couldn’t believe he was doing this. Where had her awkward, nervous Ron gone? How did he know how to touch her like this?  How did he know that just the pad of his thumb on her lip would make her breathless?

 

“Ron, what are you doing?” Hermione breathed.  Remember they were in the Ministry.  Remember they were in the Ministry.  Remember they were in the God forsaken Ministry.

 

“What I’ve wanted to do all day, Practice.”

 

Absolute shock.  That’s what Hermione felt as Ron leaned down and pressed a light kiss to her mouth.  Yesterday, he was hesitant and unsure.  Today, he was almost predatory.  What had happened?  Was permission all he needed?

 

“Ron, we’re in the Ministry hallway,” She whispered urgently, feeling hysterical and quite a bit of control.  Remember they were in the Ministry. Remember they were in the Ministry. She chanted it to herself, but the thought was ephemeral and it faded into specks and dissipated. 

 

Hermione felt Ron smile against her lips, which in itself felt like a kiss.  She couldn’t keep her eyes open.  He murmured, “Uh huh,” and it vibrated against her mouth.  Then he took her pout in between his amazing lips and sucked.

 

Hermione thought she was going to die.  Where in creation had Ron learned to do _that_?  Her lip was still in his mouth and he lightly ran his tongue over it, making her moan.  He sucked harder and lightly gnawed on it with his teeth.  The whole things seemed so intimate.

 

His arms must be around her waist, supporting her, because otherwise she would have fallen.  That new warm, melting, terrifying pressure was developing in her pelvis.  She didn’t understand it.  It frightened her.  It made her want more.  Hermione was in way over her head.

 

Ron seemed to be perfectly comfortable.  Why was he perfectly comfortable?  Hermione pulled away, gasping for breath.  Her lip sprang free with a wet plop.  He smiled at her.  With a new smile, a sensual smile, a smile that was all hers.  She had wanted to say something.  What was it? 

 

“How did you learn that?” Hermione asked breathlessly.  Ron stared back with wide-eyed confusion and … heat.  What was she going to say?  “You said that was your first kiss, but that can’t be true …”  Sickening jealousy, turned her stomach, making her mind instantly horrifically clear.  “You’re _too_ good at this.”

                                                                                                     

The sick prat had the nerve to beam at her and pull her closer.  “You think I’m good at this?”  Ron was so close their noses touched.  His childlike pleasure at his accomplishment melted her heart … that wasn’t the _point_!  Damn him.

 

“How could you know how to do that …that lip thing, if you’ve never done this before?”  Part of her wanted to cry.  Part of her just wanted to get back to the snogging.   Hermione couldn’t stand the warring emotions.  It was too confusing.

 

Ron touched her lower lip again.  “You’ve been pouting all day.  All I could think about …”  He sucked at it again and her eyes rolled up into her head.

 

It took every ounce of self-control she possessed.  She pushed him away again.  “But—”

 

“Hermione,” he interrupted huskily.  “There has only ever been you.”  Ron punctuated the statement by kissing her wetly, once, twice … she was gone.

 

By the time Ron who pulled away, Hermione had no idea where she was, or even what year it was.  He beamed at her asking with boyish curiosity, “You like that?”

 

“Hmm,” Hermione murmured, barely hearing the question.  She couldn’t think straight.  There has only ever been you.  He couldn’t mean it the way it sounded.  Oh hell, did it even matter?

 

“The lip thing, you liked it?”

 

She forced her lips open, nodding drowsily.  What a foolish question.  Did she like it?  Hermione met his eyes.  He looked so eager.  She loved him so much.  This Practice thing was the most brilliant idea of all time.  “Yeah, it’s good.”

 

Ron licked his lips.  For a moment he looked unsure, as if he were gathering courage, trying to decide something.  “Hermione?” he asked with a hint of hesitation.  Then with a tad more confidence he said, “You try.”

 

Oh heavens!  He wanted … he wanted her to take his incredible, plump lower lip into her mouth.  Hermione thought she might faint. Why was she freaking out?   It wasn’t really so much different than kissing.  Why did it feel like so much more?  Clearly it was because she had become completely addled.

 

Ron was talking again.  What as he saying?  “You know, in the interest of education.”  He smiled at her seductively.

 

Yeah, right, education.  “Um … um … ok,” Hermione stuttered and he grinned.  Ron was probably just proud he’d made her stutter, the cocky git.

 

All right, then.  So, now she had to do it.  Somehow, it seemed so bold and Ron was so, well, tall.  He needed to bend down more.  Hermione was feeling ridiculously nervous.   Her hands trembled as they reached for his head and pulled him closer.  His lips were just there.  Ok, then, just … she placed her lips around his lower lip and froze, her heart beating in her ears. 

 

Ron moaned and Hermione found the courage to suck.  Oh heavens, it was amazing, his lip was amazing.  She had to run her tongue over it.  God, it was so smooth and tasted so good.

 

He pulled away and smiled.  “See, it’s all instinct.”  Hermione smiled back, feeling infinitely better.  Instinct, right.  Brilliant.  “My turn again.”  She melted as his lips came back to hers.   Her eyes fluttered shut.

 

 “Ronald!  Please, tell me that is _not_ you.”  A familiar male voice broke into the bliss.  Ron pulled away and dropped his forehead against her shoulder, breathing heavily.  Instinctively, Hermione stroked his hair.  Who was that talking?  Where were they again?

 

“Percy,” Ron whispered in her ear and that snapped Hermione out of her fog, right quick  Oh God, they were in the _Ministry of Magic._   Snogging each others’ faces off.  When exactly in the past few days had she _completely_ lost her mind?

 

Ron pulled back from her and turned to face the brother he hadn’t seen in a year.  Percy stood, pompous and pristine, not a hair out of place.  Unlike Ron, whose hair was a wild mess, from Hermione pullingat it in  afit of blind passion.  Oh God.  Oh God.  “Hello, Percy,” Ron muttered irritably.

 

Percy’s eyes narrowed.  “I see that you are still associating with the same … crowd and that becoming a prefect has not improved your sense of propriety and responsibility.”  He looked Hermione over in a way that made her feel dirty.  “And I see that _Hermione_ has finally shown her true colors.”

 

She could feel the exact moment when Ron realized what his brother meant.  He recoiled, every muscle tense.  He looked like a lion about to pounce.  “What the bloody hell do you mean by that?” he growled, standing up to his full height and taking an aggressive step toward Percy.

 

Percy drew himself up as well, squaring his shoulders.  It occurred to Hermione that this might be the first time he had to look up to meet his little brother’s eyes. “Just when you play with rubbish—”

 

“Ron! No!”  Hermione called out in a panic as Ron sprang, but it was too late.  He had pinned Percy against the wall, before she had a chance to string two words together.   He really needed to work on his violent tendencies.

 

“You shouldn’t talk about things you know nothing about!”  Ron bit out, his words seemed absurdly mild being that he had the Assistant to the Minister of Magic trapped against the wall. 

 

“Ron, just let him go,” Hermione pleaded, pulling at his shoulder.  “We’ll leave,” Please, let them leave.  This was beyond humiliating and putting Percy in St. Mungo’s couldn’t possibly improve the situation.

 

But Percy didn’t know what was good for him, apparently he fancied getting pummeled.  “I know enough, it’s clear as day.  She’s behaving like a common whore in the hallowed halls—”

 

“Ron!” Hermione cried, wincing as she imagined Ron’s fist contracting Percy’s jaw. How does a man with twelve owls could be so ruddy stupid, she would never know.

 

 “Ron Weasley, you will drop your arm!” 

 

He froze, his elbow pulled back, his body coiled.  Hermione took the opportunity to wrap her hands around his bicep before turning to see the source of the command.  She turned her head … oh sh—Adrianna.  Couldn’t it be anyone but Adrianna?  The witch was approaching quickly,  Ginny, and Harry close behind.  Would her shame never end?

 

“Drop it!”  Adrianna repeated, in a tone that was hard to ignore.

 

“You don’t know what he said,” Ron accused heatedly, not lowering his arm.

 

“Yes, I _do_.   But this is _not_ the place.  You _need_ to walk away,” Adrianna contradicted.

 

Ron reluctantly dropped his arm and threw himself away, still red with anger.  Hermione had to fight her need to go to him.

 

“What did you do?”  Ginny demanded of Percy, starting to rush him, just as Ron cleared the path.  Harry put a hand on Ginny’s shoulder to hold her back.  Percy sneered at them, his eyes locked on the pint of contact between Harry and his little sister.

 

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Adrianna bit out, stepping in front of Ginny and affectively blocking them from Percy.  “Would you at least pretend to act your age?”

 

Hermione swallowed the knot of shame in her throat as she watched Adrianna cross her arm and carefully look over Percy.

 

For his part, the pompous git was frantically trying to straighten his robes and _not_ look as though he had just been overpowered by his younger brother.  Quite easily, Hermione thought with pride.  Oh God, what was wrong with her?  What a thing to be proud of.

 

“So,” Adrianna said with a sigh.  “You must be the final Weasley brother.”

 

Rage flared behind Percy’s eyes in response to the comment, but Adrianna’s only response as a curious raising of her eye-brows.

 

 “I,” he said, “am Percy Ignatius Weasley, assistant to the Minister of Magic.”  So, Percy didn’t fancy being called ‘the final’ Weasley.  What did Adrianna mean by that anyway?

 

Percy looked Adrianna over with what looked like a put-upon sneer, one that had been practiced, rather than one that happened naturally.  His eyes wandered behind her to Harry and back.  Most likely taking in the obvious resemblance.

 

 “And you must be the Potter Empath.”  The way he said it almost implied that she was something less than human.  Adrianna’s eyebrows rose even higher.  “We understood that you had left the country.”

 

Adrianna stared at him a moment later, before smiling coyly and giving him a dismissive roll of her eyes.  “Well, I’m back.  Why don’t you run along and tell Fudge.  I’m sure you will get all sorts of extra points.  So nice to meet you.”  She didn’t even appear to be trying to sound genuine as she turned and sent a glare to Ron and Hermione, biting out, “Children, let’s go.”

 

She had never called them ‘children’ before.  It was clearly a reprimand.  Hermione couldn’t help but feel as tough she deserved it.  Maybe that was why she obeyed Adrianna so readily, barely sparing a glance to see Percy’s horrified response to being so soundly dismissed.

 

As Adrianna put her arm around Harry and ushered them away, Hermione imagined Percy would waste no time telling Fudge about their presence in the Ministry.  Oh, God.   What if he told the Minister about the snogging part?  It was _too_ humiliating.  Whatever would they think of her?  She’d never get a job at the Ministry now.

 

And, while that was mortifying, nothing could be worse than being caught by Adrianna, who at the moment intruded by hissing, “What on earth did you two think you were doing?”

 

It was a very good question and it just compounded Hermione’s mortification that it was Adrianna who asked it.  How was she supposed to defend herself when she was so clearly in the wrong?

 

“It wasn’t us, Percy—” Ron defended angrily.

 

“Not the almost brawl.  Though, I’m pretty pissed about that as well,” Adrianna stated with a condemning glare. “No, I’m talking about you two making out in the hallway at the Ministry of Magic.”

 

“Making out?”  Ron asked, confused.

 

Adrianna rolled her eyes.  “Snogging, whatever.”

 

Hermione couldn’t take it anymore.  She closed her eyes and buried her head in her hands for good measure.  What had come over her?  Then just to make it worse Adrianna added, “Hermione, you don’t have to like me, but acting so irresponsibly…It’s going to hurt you more than it could ever hurt me.”

 

“I know that!” Hermione snapped angrily, wishing the woman would just go away.  Better yet she wished she, Hermione, would just disappear.

 

“You don’t know what’s at stake,” Adrianna continued in a hiss.

 

Hermione’s eyes snapped open.  She was sick of that particular argument.  “Then just tell us!” she bit out with frustration.  It wasn’t fair to hold her responsible for what she wasn’t told.

 

Adrianna pulled back, sighing.  She shook her head and frowned before producing a roll of parchment and looked at each of them.  “All four of you are incredibly important.  You need to realize that.  I know it’s not fair that you have so much responsibility at your age, but you do.  So you need to _watch_ yourselves.” 

 

She handed Hermione the parchment.  Ginny seemed about to speak, but Adrianna cut off with frustration, “Yes, you too, Ginny.  I said four, didn’t I?”

 

Hermione took a shaky breath and unrolled the parchment.  She didn’t understand what Adrianna was talking about.  Harry was the important one.   They were just …

 

 

— _Department Of Underage Magic—_

_This document hereby allows the practice of Underage Magic from the dates of     August 7, 1996 until August 31, 1996 by the following minors:_

_Mr. Harry J. Potter_

_Miss Hermione J. Granger_

_Mr. Ronald B. Weasley_

_Miss Ginevra M. Weasley_

_To be contained under the following conditions:_

_The practice of said magic is for educational purposes only and is to be done entirely under the supervision of Miss Adrianna I. Potter.  All magic performed by previously named minors will only take place while in the same physical residence as their said supervisor.  All rules of legal age magic, including the ban on performing magic in the presence of Muggles, do apply and  remain in force.  If at any point these conditions are violated this document will be considered null and void and proper disciplinary measures will be employed._

_Mafalda Hopkirk_

_Director, Department Improper Use of Magic_

 

 

 

 “If Madam Hopkirk had seen you two, she would have very likely changed her mind,” Adrianna admonished, while Hermione stood in astonishment and the others pushed over to read the document.

 

 “This is fantastic!” Ron exclaimed, grinning ear to ear.

 

 “Yes, well, tell me how fantastic it is when you find out how hard you’re going to be working for the rest of the summer.”  Adrianna said, snatching back the parchment and rolling it up.  “Come on, let’s get some lunch.  We have one more horrifically boring meeting before we can go home.”

 

 

 

 

* * * * *

 

 

 

 

When Ginny stepped out of the fireplace at number Twelve Grimmauld Place, she was exhausted, but outrageously happy.  Who would have thought that Sirius had thought that much of them?  Well, she could see him appreciating Ron and Hermione, but _her_?

 

Maybe Sirius just felt sorry for the poor, youngest Weasley.  For once, Ginny didn’t care.  She looked over and exchanged a happy grin with Ron.  He hadn’t stopped smiling since he heard they were going to be able to use magic for the rest of the summer.

 

Magic for the rest of the summer, spending money for the first time ever, a trust fund when she turned seventeen, and if she wasn’t mistaken, and Ginny was sure she wasn’t, Harry Potter had flirted with her today.  Yes, life was most definitely looking up.  Not even Percy could bring her down.

 

“Er, ‘Drana?” Harry called.  “There’s a hole in the staircase.”  Ginny rushed over to the stairs, where a huge opening where the elf heads used to be.  She couldn’t help but laugh incredulously.

 

“Oh, good, the twins were able to manage it,” Adrianna said casually as she skirted around them and ascended the stairs.

 

Oh, yes.  No bid thing.  Just a simple hole in the wall.  Ginny dashed up the steps with her friends.  She coughed as she reached the top.  Dust was heavy in the air.  Now what?  Oh dear God.

 

“Blimey.”

 

“Bloody hell.”

 

“What _did_ you do?”

 

Ginny couldn’t help but laugh as she stared at the massive gaping hole in the wall where the shrieking portrait of Mrs. Black used to hang.  Strike that … not a gaping hole in the wall.  There would have to be a _wall_ for there to be a hole in it.  It was all so crazy.  There was _no_ wall!  Their mum was going to explode.

 

“See, I told you there was something behind that wall,” Adrianna said cheerfully.

 

One could say that.  The room was enormous.  It must have been a ball room at some point.  Now, it looked as if it were a storage room for every Dark Arts object the Blacks had needed to hide at the end of the last war.

 

Ginny reckoned the collection made clear what side of the war the Black family really was on.  The far right wall was even set up to be a torture chamber.  Mrs. Black was leaning face down on a pile of trunks with most of the wall still stuck to her back, muffled mutterings spilling out.

 

“And could you believe Fred and George made this mess and then just ran off to be with their birds.”

 

“Bill,” Adrianna greeted with a large grin, as Ginny’s eldest brother descended the stairs.

 

“Adrianna,” he stated warmly, laughter in his voice.  Ginny hadn’t thought there was anything left that could shock her that day, but clearly she was wrong.  Bill walked straight up to her and kissed her smack on the lips.

         

To compound insult to injury, Adrianna’s response to Bill wasn’t nearly as ambivalent as it had been to Charlie.  She greeted him with unabashed affection.  “Where have you been?  Thank God you’re not mad at me.  I don’t think I could take anymore hostility.”

 

“Mad about what?  My thick brother’s stupidity?  I don’t think so.” 

 

Harry gave a frustrated sigh, glaring at Adrianna. “You know Bill as well?  How—?”

 

 “Charlie doesn’t keep as many secrets from me as he does with the rest of the family,” Bill said lightly, grinning mischievously, barely taking his eyes off Adrianna.  “So, I just got back to the office today from assignment.  I wasn’t back in the office an hour when Mum Apparates in, _hysterical_ , demanding an explanation.  Charlie’s keeping secrets, consorting with the enemy.”

 

 “Consorting?”  Adrianna gasped playfully.  “With the enemy?  And you defended me, of _course_.”

 

 “I didn’t believe it.  Wasn’t even sure they were talking about the same person.  I never even knew Potter was your last name.  So, naturally, I promised to come over straight away and check out the _dangerous_ situation.”

 

“I am dangerous,” Adrianna said with mock seriousness.

 

Bill laughed, clearly delighted.  “I certainly know that.  Though I suspect, mostly to Charlie at the moment.”

 

She snorted, rolling he eyes. “Yeah, well.  Maybe you should greet your siblings before I get accused of enchanting you, too.”

 

Laughing, Bill turned away and fondly greeted his sister.  “All right there, Ginny with all the—”

 

“Yeah, great,” Ginny reassured quickly, hoping to avoid bringing up the Stupefying thing _again_.  Besides, the interaction between Bill and Adrianna was _much_ more entertaining.  This story just got more convoluted every day.

 

Ginny was relieved when Bill put an arm around her shoulders and continued his conversation with Adrianna, sans Death Eater talk, thankfully.  “Enchanted … they actually said that?”

 

“Well, not out loud … Ron, don’t touch that!”

 

It appeared the boys had gotten bored with the conversation and had wandered off to take a closer look at the piles of rubbish that littered the room.  Ron reached out to touch a pair of shackles against the wall.  He pulled back just in time to avoid the snapping metal from catching his hands.

 

“Honestly, Ronald, we shouldn’t be touching anything!” Hermione admonished.  Though she was staring at the stacks with something akin to hunger.

 

“You can go through it, just no hands.  Use magic,” Adrianna told them.  They stared at her.  “Go, get your wands.  Go on then.”  Ron and Harry grinned madly at each other and dashed for the stairs.

 

Ginny called out to Hermione as she followed, “Could you grab mine?  It’s in my trunk.”  Hermione nodded, continuing on.  Ginny wasn’t in the mood to miss anything.  She was certain the minute she stepped from the room, things would get _really_ interesting.

 

“You didn’t?  You got the underage law—?” Bill asked with a surprised expression.

 

“Waived. Yeah,” Adrianna replied absently, pulling sheets off a cluster of sofas that were pushed all together.  “Wasn’t hard.  You know who the new Director of the Auror Department is?”

 

“Right.  I had forgotten your connection to Carter.”

 

How does Bill know? Ginny wondered.  How much does he know?  Could Bill explain the mysterious ‘CW’ on the map?  Shite, don’t think about the map.  Adrianna’ll hear.  She didn’t seem to have noticed.  _Yet_.

           

Quick, she needed to think of something distracting…Harry.  No!  Don’t! Ginny did not want Adrianna hearing her think improper thoughts about her cousin.  Great, now she couldn’t stop thinking improper thoughts about her cousin.  Quick, think about Dean.  Shite, Dean!  She’d forgotten about Dean.  She was really a horrible person.  How could Ginny have completely forgotten?  Dean.  Harry.  Dean.  Harry.  Ahhhh!

 

“Ginny, are you ok?” Adrianna said, looking at her with concern.

 

“Fine,” she reassured, far too quickly.  He hoped she didn’t look as guilty as she felt.  What the hell was wrong with her?  Ginny sank into the newly uncovered sofa.

 

“Ginny, no!”

 

She jumped at Adrianna’s command, looking around anxiously, expecting something to jump out at her.

 

“You don’t know what’s in there,” Adrianna admonished, raising her wand.  “ _Furia Coutore_.”  The scruffy furniture transformed into an elegant Burgundy sofa.  The witch sank into it, with what looked like exhaustion.

 

Ginny looked at the sofa with admiration before plopping down beside her.  She thought about all the scruffy things at the Burrow.  “Are you going to teach us how to do that?”

 

“Sure.”

 

“Waste of time, Gin.  You’ll never be able to learn _that_ ,” Bill said lightly as he approached.  Adrianna transformed the facing sofa from a ratty looking settee to a matching piece of furniture.

 

“Sure, she can.  She’s quite powerful,” Adrianna argued.

 

“You and I know it’s not about power.” Ginny narrowed her eyes at her brother.   She watched to hear more about how powerful she was. “It’s about having a taste for the finer things in life.  ‘Drana’s been doing these sort of transfigurations since birth, isn’t that right?”  He seated himself comfortably in the now matching sofa opposite them and grinned roguishly at them. 

 

Adrianna just smiled innocently and kicked off her shoes.  She put her feet up next to Bill, crossing them at the ankle.  “Whatever you say, Bill.  Just stick around, ok? Because I could really use a buffer from all the hostility around here.”

 

Ginny tensed.  For the first time placing herself in Adrianna’s shoes and finding it an extremely uncomfortable feeling.  She never really considered what it must be like for an Empath to be in a place where everyone distrusted her, but it couldn’t be anything, but awful.

 

“That bad?” Bill said compassionately, echoing her pose and kicking up his shoeless feet, so they rested next to Adrianna’s hip.

 

 “You wouldn’t believe it,” Adrianna said bitterly.  “Except for Harry, there’s nothing but suspicions, rage, and hatred.”

 

 “That’s not true,” Ginny found herself saying automatically, feeling as though she needed to make it better somehow  Bill and Adrianna looked at her with skeptical smiles and she found herself flailing, “I … I like you.”

 

Adrianna laughed. “I appreciate the sentiment, Ginny. I do.  But you don’t _like_ me.  We both know its all about Harry.”

 

Ginny felt a horrible sinking sensation. Her secret.  She was doomed.  Bill was staring at her with a bright grin and a twinkle in his eye.  She was really, _really_ doomed.

 

“It’s ok, perfectly understandably, really,” Adrianna reassured, well at least she wasn’t insulted, Ginny thought sarcastically.  Cursing herself for thinking nice thoughts about the woman who had just reveled her secrets to her brother.

 

Bill reached out and gave Ginny’s knee an encouraging pat.  “Take heart, Gin.  ‘Drana seems to be encouraging your … _infatuation_.  That’s a very good sign.”

 

Ginny narrowed her eyes at him.  “I’m not infatuated,” she denied immediately.  Wait, what had Bill said.  Her eyes flew to Adrianna, who was glaring at Bill.  “What do you mean?  What does _he_ mean?” she demanded to the two adults, her heart beating erratically. 

 

It was her brother who answered, “‘Drana thinks she’s subtle, refusing to tell you secrets of the heart—”

 

“That’s enough, Bill,” Adrianna warned, her voice surprisingly hard.

 

Bill wasn’t cowed, just leaned forward to whisper to Ginny, “But if you watch closely she gives away everything you need to know.  She can’t help herself.”

 

“Bill!”

 

“And she _never_ encourages a doomed love affair.”

 

“Speaking of which, I hear you’re dating a twelve year old.”

 

Ginny gasped and laughed out loud.  As disappointed as she was when Bill stopped abruptly, completely distracted from a _highly_ interesting conversation, she couldn’t help but admire the way Adrianna had handled him.  But it seemed she had a awful lot of experience dealing with Weasley men.           

 

Bill stared at Adrianna with a horrified expression.  She looked smug, and didn’t seem to be in the mood to take any prisoners. Maybe Ginny could ask Bill more about the love issue.  Though, Adrianna wouldn’t have interrupted if it weren’t true, and that meant … could it mean …?

 

“She’s not twelve,” Bill replied acridly.  “She’s _twenty_.”

 

“So, she’s not half your age, just two thirds your age.  Just a full decade younger than you.  I wonder what would make a man your age attracted to a child like that—”

 

Bill eyes lit up, rising to the challenge he asked, “So, what about Charlie?  Surely, he’s shielding some of that _hostility_.”

 

Adrianna smiled back.  “Well played,” she acknowledged.  “What I feel from Charlie, while not hostility, is far from comforting.  Speaking of which, he just Apparated in downstairs.”

 

Ginny could feel Adrianna tense next to her.  That was very interesting.  Very interesting indeed.  But the next Weasley to enter the ballroom wasn’t Charlie, it was Ron.  He walked in with a worried, defeated slump to his shoulders and threw himself into the seat next to Bill.

 

Ginny grinned.  “Poor Ron,” she teased ruthlessly.  “Things a bit chilly, after being discovered this afternoon?”  The boy had got away with much too much lately.  He needed a little dose of the sibling treatment.  Ron scowled at her and Adrianna laughed, relaxing again.

 

Bill gave them a confused look, asking, “Where are Harry and Hermione?”

 

Ron stared up at the ceiling, saying miserably.  “They’re talking.”

 

“And that’s bad because…?” Bill asked.

 

Ron groaned but didn’t answer.

 

“I think Ron might be a tad concerned that they are discussing him,” Ginny commented, lightly

 

“Yeah.”  Adrianna gave a mock wince.  “Harry was a little perturbed about your little _escapade_ at the Ministry.”

 

Ginny grinned with pleasure.  This was fun.  “Ooooh, and Hermione might change her mind.”

 

“Shut up,” Ron countered, with his usual skill.  How come he could only row with any skill with Hermione?  He was such an easy mark that it almost took the fun out of it.

 

“What escapade?”  Charlie asked, walking into the disaster area of a room.  “And what the bloody hell happened in here?”  He fell into the sofa next to Ron.

 

“We found a new room,” Adrianna replied cheerfully.  “Oh, and Ron was caught making out … excuse me, _snogging_ in the hallway at the Ministry of Magic.”  Ginny laughed merrily and her two oldest brothers practically sputtered with mirth.

 

“Hey,” Ron protested, turning five shades of rd and wearing a look of abject horror. “Aren’t you supposed to _keep_ secrets?”

 

“Hate to tell you this, Ron, but when you do _that_ in a very public hallway, it’s _not_ a secret,” Adrianna explained.

 

 “Um …  is this with the Hermione who’s _not_ your girlfriend?” Charlie asked wryly, causing Ron to bury his head in his hands, groaning.

 

“Not your girlfriend, huh?  Mum’s going to die when she hears this,” Bill said in as serious tone of mock disapproval.

 

Clearly Ron didn’t catch the mock part, because he looked up and pleaded, “Oh, no, please don’t tell Mum.”

 

Ginny actually felt sorry for him and just a twinge guilty due to her promise to Hermione not to talk about it.  But it wasn’t as though she were advertising their practicing nonsense and that took no small amount of restraint.  Sibling gold, is what that was.

 

“No one’s going to tell your mother,” Adrianna reassured.  Poor Ron.  Ginny would have preferred they let him stew a bit longer…

 

“Oh, we’re not?”  Charlie asked, incredulously.

 

“No, we’re not,” Adrianna directed to Charlie.  “I’m sure we can all obtain quite enough pleasure from tormenting him amongst ourselves.”

 

Bill grinned, shaking his head.  “I don’t know, ‘Drana.  It could be so much _more_ fun.  I can just see mum now …”

 

Ginny knew that he wouldn’t tell.  He was just enjoying the torment.  That was part of the sibling code.  “Cheer up, Bill.  Since it was Percy who discovered caught him, it’s likely to be all over the Ministry by now,” She added, delighting in Ron’s anguished groan.

 

Instead of the teasing that Ginny expected Bill and Charlie grew strangely quiet and still.  Ginny’s laughter faded as she looked at them curiously.  Charlie looked intently at Adrianna.  “You met Percy?”

 

Adrianna sobered and nodded grimly.  Bill leaned forward with a mixture of eagerness and worry, when he asked. “What did you see?”

 

So, that’s what they were all about.  Ginny felt her stomach clench and all trace of amusement was gone.  Did any of them _really_ want the answer to that question?  She joined the other three redheads in their expectant scrutiny of Adrianna.

 

The witch sighed and Ginny wondered if they were going to get the typical refusal to answer, but she just leaned back and said sadly.  “It’s awfully hard to be a younger brother in this family.”

 

Bill scoffed and Charlie rolled his eyes, both of them sitting back a bit Ron looked incredibly interested in the floor for some reason.

 

Adrianna frowned at the two oldest brothers.  “Don’t scoff at me.  The two of you are a lot to live up to. And your family doesn’t even know the half of it.  It’s hard to find an identity when all the good ones are taken.”

 

 _That_ was a heady thought.  Ron shifted uncomfortably.  Ginny wondered if the same applied to her.  Somehow she felt it did.

 

 “So, that’s what the prat’s about?  Charlie bit out angrily.  “ _Finding_ himself?”

 

Adrianna gave a half shrug, half nod.  “He’s doing what he feels is right and finding a way to do it that is entirely out of your shadow.”

 

Charlie flopped back on the sofa irritably.  After a moment, he turned to his youngest brother.  “Don’t do something that stupid to find yourself.”

 

Ron looked uneasy at the thought but Adrianna drew his eyes to hers as she said, “Its good advice, Ron.  Especially since you have the added pressure of a Destiny to contend with.”

 

Somehow, Ginny didn’t think that Ron was any more prepared to deal with _that_ than she was.

 

 

 

 

                                                            * * * * *

 

 

 

Harry dashed up the stairs and into his room.  Finding his wand immediately, he savored the feel of it back in his hand.  He had magic back and he couldn’t wait to use it.  But for some reason, as he bounded back down the stairs, instead of rushing to go back to the new magic filled ballroom.  He paused on the first floor landing.  Something drew him to Hermione and Ginny’s room.

 

Standing in the doorway, watching Hermione rummage in frustration through Ginny’s trunk, he realized what had drawn him here.  Hermione. He was feeling a disconnect from her that he had never felt before.  And, oh yeah, she was really pissing him off.

 

Harry didn’t generally confront issues unless he was in too much of a rage to stop himself, so he surprised himself when he entered the room.  Clearing his throat, he gathered up enough courage to say, “Hey.”

 

Hermione paused in her search and looked up.  “Oh, Harry.  Can you believe Ginny?  She sends me up to find her wand and her trunk is a complete disaster … finally, here it is.”  She sat back, pushing her unruly hair out of the way and looking at him expectantly, becoming more and more anxious as he didn’t move or speak.  “Did you want something, Harry?” she asked, cautiously.

 

“Yeah,” Harry managed.  This would be easier to do if she didn’t have two wands clutched in her hand.  “Yeah, I do,” he said more firmly.  I was just wondering what the bloody hell was going on with you today?”  Once he began talking, all the rage and hurt spilled out, unbidden.  “I can understand Ron.  He’s impulsive and couldn’t give a rat’s arse about the rules.  But _you_ , Hermione?  When you do something like that, I can’t help but think it’s downright spiteful.”

 

“Harry, I…no,” Hermione shook her head, looking alarmed and anxious.  Guilty, as well.  It made him sick that one of his best mates would do that.

 

 “Then why, Hermione?  Why would you act so irresponsible and so un-Hermione if you weren’t trying to spite my cousin and sabotage her guardianship?”  As he said it, Harry found himself waiting for a denial, anything that made sense.

 

“Harry—”

 

“Hey, mates.”  A hesitant interruption came from behind Harry as Ron stood in the doorway, looking fearful.  “You ready to go down?”

 

Harry looked away, his jaw clenched.  Great, now Ron would come in and diffuse the situation, but nothing would get better.  Hermione would continue her persistent rivalry with Adrianna.  Did she realize that this could ruin their friendship?  The idea made Harry sick.  He’d loose Ron as well.  There was no way he wouldn’t pick Hermione.  Not now.

 

Hermione cleared her throat saying, “Ron, could you give us a few minutes?”

 

Harry looked back, relieved.  Though, it was clear that Ron did not like the idea.  But he relented and Hermione closed the door behind him.  She sat down on her bed and waited for him to join her.  For a moment, Harry considered they insist on standing just to be difficult, but it became clear that she wasn’t going to speak until he did.  So, he did, his arms tightly crossed, glaring at her.

 

Hermione took a tremulous breath, seeming absurdly nervous.  It wasn’t the righteous indignation Harry was expecting.  When she spoke there was a pleading tone in her voice.  “Harry, I assure you that what happened in the hallway had nothing to do with _anything_ except a lapse in my good judgment.”  She blushed as she said this and seemed to be having trouble maintaining eye contact.

 

Harry scoffed.  He wasn’t going to let her get away that easily.  “Don’t pretend that you don’t hate Adrianna.  That you aren’t against the guardianship.”

 

Hermione sighed, saying carefully.  “I don’t deny that I don’t trust her and that the guardianship worries me.  Harry, do you have any idea the power you just handed over to her?  You barely know her and now she has complete control over you.  She could pull you out of Hogwarts, she could—”

 

 “So!”  Harry interrupted her before she could work up to another rant.  This was _his_ rant.  “So, you were so intent on sabotaging it you were willing to ... to act like a … like a …”  Harry couldn’t bring himself to say the next word.  The unsaid insults hung heavily in the air.

 

Hermione flinched.  “I wasn’t trying to sabotage anything.  I was … I just went with Ron to vent a little so I _wouldn’t_ say anything to ruin this for you, then …”  She trailed off, burying her head in her hands.  “Oh, God.”

 

“Then what?  You got a better idea?”  What was wrong with her today?  She wasn’t acting at all herself.

 

“No,” Hermione said miserably, refusing to move her hands from her face.  “Then he kissed me and I really didn’t think of much of anything … this is so humiliating.”

 

Harry gaped at her.  Was she really admitting what he thought she was?  That she, Hermione Granger, Queen of Rules and Responsibility, not to mention Intellect and Reason, had become completely addled by teenaged lust?   He would have thought it a joke if it came from anywhere but Hermione’s mouth.  And there was the fact that he looked as though she were confessing the worst sin in the world.

 

It took Harry a moment to really digest all of this.  If her behavior at the Ministry wasn’t because of Adrianna, if was all because of Ron … if she’d do that at the Ministry maybe all her recent behavior was off because of it.

 

Poor girl must have it bad to be acting so addled and God knows nothing would get Hermione is.   That she had actually suggested that stupid practicing thing proved it.

 

“So, this whole practice thing really was your idea?” Harry asked, just to make sure.  He’d hate to think that Ron had inadvertently made her agree to something she didn’t want.  Especially, in the state he was in.

 

Hermione’s eyes finally left her hands and snapped to his.  “Ron told you about that?” she asked with a hysterical edge to her voice.

 

Wow, it was true.  “Yeah.” It was Hermione’s idea.  Made him think about his best mate in a whole new way.  She certainly wasn’t boring.

 

“Oh, you must think I’m a total slag.”  Hermione buried her head again.  “Especially the way I acted today.”  When she raised her head again, she looked a tad desperate.  “Harry, I think I might be going mad,” she told him quite seriously.

 

He couldn’t help but laugh as he felt a rush of affection for her and he placed an arm around her shoulder.  Harry could definitely see how one would come to that conclusion.  “You’ve always been a bit mad, Hermione.”

 

“Thanks,” she muttered dejectedly, eyes down.

 

Looking over her sad demeanor, Harry …  “Hermione, you can tell me if you feel Ron is … you, know, taking advantage.”  He bit the inside of his cheek, hating having this conversation, but he couldn’t have Hermione hurt if he could help it.  “I know he’s my best mate, but … if he … if you ever feel as though … if he hurts you, I’ll knock his bloke off but good.”

 

“Harry!” Hermione gasped.  “You wouldn’t,” she admonished.

 

The hell he wouldn’t.  No one hurt Hermione like that.  No one!

 

His face must have said it all, because Hermione sighed, looking at him sadly.  “I wouldn’t want that to happen.  I don’t want to come between the two of you.  No matter what.”

 

Harry looked her over, his mouth tight with disapproval.  “If you don’t tell me because of that, I‘ll be just as pissed at you and I’ll still kick Ron’s arse.”

 

 “Hermione’s eyes went wide and she gasped in a way that almost sounded like a laugh of disbelief.  “Harry—”

 

“Promise you’ll tell me,” Harry demanded stubbornly.

 

Her face dissolved into an affectionate smile.  “I promise.”

 

Suddenly Harry could feel the intimacy in the room, restlessness coursed through him and his arm fell from her shoulders.  “So, um, we should …”  He stood and walked to the door.

 

Half-way there he heard Hermione call, “Harry, I don’t hate Adrianna.”

 

Oh right.  That was why he came in there.  Shite.  Swallowing,. Harry reluctantly sat back down.  He felt profoundly uncomfortable as Hermione continued, “I just don’t trust her.”

 

  1.   That was so much better.  Didn’t she understand that she and Adrianna were the most important woman in his life and he needed them to get along.



 

 “I think it’s just everyone else trusting her so completely,” Hermione continued, unbidden. “That and all the secrets.  It makes me nervous.  It makes me feel as if I’m not paying close attention, no one will and then something bad could happen.”  Harry turned to watch her more carefully.  Her eyes slipped closed as she said very quietly, “And I haven’t been very good at paying attention lately.”

 

Wow, this was about the Ron thing as well. And being  Hermione she was feeling pretty guilty about it.  Harry realized that he needed to bend here. “I think I can understand that, but I’d really … I kind of … I would appreciate it if you could at least try and give Adrianna a chance?”  He gulped nervously and looked at her.

 

Hermione nodded, saying with a small smile, “I can do that.”

 

  1.   Good.  Thank God.  Now they could get the hell out of this room. “Come on,” Harry said. “We need to go downstairs and find out how many other Weasleys Adrianna has had a relationship with in the past.” He was immensely grateful when she followed without question.



 

As they reentered the newly discovered room on the first floor, Harry found that most of the dust had been cleared away.  Adrianna had her wand out and seemed to be repairing the ragged edges of the wall where the twins had blasted through.  Harry also noticed that Charlie had joined them and the four Weasleys were carefully levitating items from the old piles and creating new ones.

 

“Hey, mate, come over and have a look at this,” Ron called with a familiar

enthusiasm, beckoning his friends over to where Ron and Ginny stood.

 

“Look, Harry,” Ginny said.  “We found a whole bunch of Sirius’ old stuff and this trunk’s labeled ‘Lily and James.’”

 

Harry’s heart clenched and his breath left him in a rush.  He hadn’t been expecting that at all.  He tried to keep his voice even  as he looked at the trunk.  “Why would Sirius hide my parent’s things in here?”

 

 “Probably didn’t,” Bill called from the far side of the room.  “Bet old Mrs. Black hid them in here after he was thrown into Azkaban and they needed to hide all their Dark Magic.  Sirius probably thought it had all been destroyed.”

 

Harry swallowed.  He supposed that made sense as he reached for the trunk—

 

“Harry, your wand,” Adrianna warned, harshly, making him jump.  “We don’t know what the Blacks have done to this stuff.”

 

Harry nodded.  Right.  Of Course.  Stuff from his parents contaminated by the Black’s dark magic.  Wonderful.  Did he even want to look at it?  Stupid question. “ _Alohomora_.”  The trunk sprang open and the rush at doing his first magic in a week faded into something else all together as he saw heaps of baby clothes, books, photographs…

 

 “Wow, quite a … a change, this is.”  Harry looked up to see Remus enter.  His old professor smiled and shook his head, saying with amusement, “Reckon you were right about the other room, Adrianna. Though, Molly is going to have kittens when she sees this.”  He chuckled.

 

“I’m fixing it,” Adrianna responded lightly.  “Besides, it’ll give her one more excuse to hate me.  She’ll enjoy it.”

 

“She doesn’t hate you,” Charlie called back irritably.

 

Adrianna harrumphed.  “Are you attempting to tell _me_ I don’t know what someone feels—?”

 

 “I’m _saying_ you’re exaggerating, on purpose,” Charlie tossed back.  “Besides, if you wouldn’t antagonize her—”

 

 “I’m not antagonizing anyone …”

 

“Hermione,” Remus called, shaking his head in amusement as he left the squabbling pair to their business and approached the four teenagers.  “I checked on your parents today.”

 

“Oh.”  Hermione said, becoming still, she looked strangely surprised.  “Good, then.  How are they?”

 

“They’re well.  No signs of Death Eaters, you’ll be happy to know.  They appear to be quite safe.” Remus smiled in a good natured way and reached into his pocket.  “They gave me a letter for you.  Said they hadn’t received an owl from you in a few days, so they couldn’t send it themselves.”

 

Hermione had a strange look on her face as she took the letter.  She muttered, “Thanks,” and bit her lip, walking slightly away from the group as she read the letter.

 

Just more of Hermione’s recent craziness. Harry turned his attention back to the trunk., kneeling beside it, he levitated things out into neat little piles.  Nothing looked the least bit dangerous.  Mostly it seemed to be personal mementos.

 

Hermione’s loud gasp drew his attention and Harry turned to see tears rolling down her face. “Excuse me,” she sobbed and ran over and up the stairs.  The group stood dumbly looking after her.  Ron, in particular, was pale.

 

A bit more than the usual craziness, it seemed. “Someone should go after her,” Harry said, knowing that it couldn’t be him.  He had quite his quote of uncomfortably deep conversations today.  It was definitely Ron’s turn.

 

Ron nodded and swallowed.  “Yeah … yeah, um … I think it should be you, Ginny.”

 

Ginny glared in response to her nomination and looked at Ron as if he had lost all sense.  “Don’t be stupid, _go_ after her.”  Her brother just shook his head rapidly, looking panicked.

 

“Ron,” Adrianna called, drawing his attention, before she said pointedly, “She wants _you_.”

 

Ron took a hissing breath, then nodded once. Looking for all the world like a man condemned ,he wiped his hands on his trousers as he walked deliberately up the stairs.

 

When he had finally cleared the landing, Charlie turned to Adrianna and asked mockingly, “So, they’re not in a relationship, then?”

 

Adrianna shook her head, mildly. “Oh, they’re in a relationship.  They just aren’t ready to call it that.”  Various scoffs and grunts filled the room.  “Don’t dismiss it.  It’s difficult to deal with feelings that intense at their age.  They’re doing the best they can and I don’t want any of you interfering, either.”

 

“Why are you so concerned?”  Charlie asked mockingly, looking her over suspiciously.

 

Adrianna turned to face him, holding herself up tall and said sadly, “Maybe I’d just like to see a love affair end happily for once.”

 

Harry and Ginny shared a glance as the group fell silent and the tension in the room rose measurably.  They seemed to be the only ones in the room able to make eye contact.  He didn’t like this Charlie situation.  Not one bit.

 

But there was nothing to be done about it now, so he turned back to his task.  After levitating out what appeared to be a very old lacy tablecloth Harry’s eyes immediately found a pocket watch.  It was gold with a black enamel center, delicately painted.  Without thinking, his hand reached out and closed around it.  The center depicted a castle, but one with those odd teardrop shaped roofs like they have in Moscow.  A figure of a woman with a baby was sitting in front of the castle.  The gold looked tarnished and old.

 

“Harry,” Ginny hissed.  He looked up to see her looking at him in caution, as he blatantly broke the no touching rule.  He didn’t know what came over him, but he whispered, “Shh!” to Ginny and slipped the watch into his pocket.

                                               

 

 

 

 

* * * * *

 

 

 


	19. Overwhelmed

Ron was stunned when Hermione ran from the room in tears.  Now, taking the steps as slowly as he possibly could, he felt terrified.  The words, “she wants _you_ ,” were ringing in his ears.

 

He couldn’t exactly shrug it off as speculation when it came from an Empath.

 

Why would she want _him_?  What could he do?  He was the absolute worst at these sorts of things.  Hermione knew that.  But still she wanted him. It filled him with awe, warmth … and hunger.

 

And he was going to fuck it up big time, guaranteed.

 

Ron paused at the door; his hand rose to knock and he took a deep breath.  If this is what Hermione wanted then he’d do it.  Well, he’d try. He knocked and was rewarded with a muffled murmur.  He knocked again, more insistently.  This time he heard her call, “Go away, Ginny.”

 

Ron almost laughed.  Hermione thought it was Ginny.  Of course she did.  Ron was far too much of a coward and a loser to comfort his own girl…best mate.  _His best mate!_

 

“Hermione, it’s me,” he called, and then held his breath.  When she didn’t respond, he began to get annoyed.  He was holding his breath here.  This wasn’t easy for him either. 

 

Enough!  He had to get this over with or he was never going to do it.  “Hermione, I’m coming in.”

 

When he entered the room, she was lying on her belly on the bed, her face turned and buried in the pillow that she had hugged to her.  He could just make out her eyes as she peered at him between a mass of hair and a soft feather pillow.  They were wet.

 

As he knelt next to her, Ron felt a rush of affection so strong that all other emotions were pushed to the side.  He brushed her hair out of her face to reveal her tearstained cheeks and her delightful pout.

 

He couldn’t help but mimic it, relieved that she didn’t seem to be “someone had died” upset, but rather “I got 99 points on my Transfiguration Exam” upset.

 

Oh, wait, he knew how to deal with the death thing, _this_ was unfamiliar territory.  In this scenario, he would usually call her mental and avoid her.  Somehow, he didn’t think that would go over well now that they were Practicing. 

 

“What’s wrong?” he asked softly.

 

Her pout intensified.  She was adorable.  “I’m a terrible person,” she murmured.

 

Ron laughed, which was probably _not_ the thing to do.  She turned her head into the pillow, pressing the sides of it up around her ears and letting out a moan. “Come on Hermione, I’m sorry,” he stroked her hair.  “It’s just that it’s ridiculous.”  Another moan, he wasn’t handling this at all well.  “You’re the best person I know.”

 

Hermione sniffed and shook her head into the pillow. “I mean, if you’re a horrible person what does that make me?  Lower than a slug, I suppose.”  She shook her head again.

 

This wasn’t working.  Why did anyone think he’d be good at this?  He let his forehead fall onto the bed next to her.  Now what?  Maybe he should just lay with her until she wanted to talk?  Maybe he should just leave?

 

 _That_ certainly sounded appealing.

 

Ron tried again, lifting his head and placing his chin on the bed.  “Hermione, please, look at me.”

 

Amazingly, she did.  “You don’t understand. I’m selfish and careless and irresponsible.  A horrible person, really.”

 

Ron started to protest but she handed him the crumpled letter in her hand.  He smoothed the paper out with a sense of dread.  What could be so bad that it would make Hermione act like this?

 

As he perused the letter, he became increasingly confused.  He had to go back and read it again to make sure he hadn’t missed anything.  “Hermione,” Ron said, shaking his head, his brow furrowed.  “I don’t understand.  It’s just an ordinary letter.”

 

She frowned and muttered, “Crookshanks,” before burying her head back in her pillow.

                 

Hermione really was mental.  “It says the mangy beast is fine.  Your parents picked him up from your aunt’s after they returned from holiday.  Healthy as can be.”

 

“You don’t understand,” she whimpered.

 

She was right about that.

 

“I forgot about him.”  She turned and looked at him again.  “I forgot all about him.  You came to the cottage five days ago and not once did I wonder where he was or even spare a thought for my own pet.  He’s _my_ responsibility.  I’m a horrible person.”

 

Ron sighed with relief.  “Is that all?”  She went to pull away from him again, but he stopped her, grabbing her hands and pulling her into a sitting position.  “You’re not a horrible person.  Crikey, Hermione, it’s been a bloody insane five days…”

 

“Don’t swear,” she muttered.

 

He laughed, continuing, “It’s perfectly understandable that you forgot him.  He was safe after all.”

 

Hermione shook her head.  “I forgot my parents as well; I sent them a quick note saying I’d gotten here safely…then nothing. I just forgot about them.”

 

“Hermione, it’s only been five days.  Think of all that’s happened.” 

 

“No!” she insisted, more forcefully.  “A lot is always happening to us.  We’re always getting threatened, or kidnapped, or injured and I never forget things.  I’m _always_ responsible.  I get my essays done on time.  I do my prefect duties.  I write my parents.  I take care of Crookshanks.  I don’t forget!” 

 

She was getting hysterical and he was getting apprehensive.  “Ok, Hermione, ok.”  He stroked her hand, feeling utterly impotent.

 

“And just look at my behavior today.  Percy was right.  I was acting like a common whore in the Ministry of Magic …”

 

“Hermione! No!” he protested, outraged at even her for saying such a thing.

 

But she ignored him.  “… I haven’t even been thinking about Adrianna or Death Eaters or Charlie and what in the name of Magic is going on there?  I have no idea if Adrianna is evil or if she’s Harry’s savior, and it’s because I _haven’t_ been paying attention.  I could be condemning her and ruining my relationship with Harry for no good reason.  I should have lists … and a plan … and theories.  But I don’t … I don’t because something’s wrong with me.”

 

Now Ron was scared.  He shook his head against the words.  “It’s just a lot….”

 

“No, Ron.”  There were new tears in her eyes.  “ _It_ hasn’t been a lot.  _We’ve_ been a lot.”  She bit her lip and looked down.  “I’ve been distracted, because of … because of what we’ve been doing, the Practicing and such.”  Her voice was barely audible.  “I haven’t been responsible because all I’ve been able to think about is these … _feelings_.”

 

Ron gulped, “Feelings?”

 

“Yes, Ron.”  She looked at him in frustration.  “These stupid, tingly …” her voice dropped an octave, “ _sexual_ feelings.”  Then she turned away again, embarrassed.

 

The first thing Ron felt was arousal.  He made her tingly … and distracted.  Did it feel for her the way it felt for him?  The idea gave him a rush of pleasure.  And, fuck, Hermione just said “sexual.”

 

Then Ron allowed himself to take in her miserable posture and tearstained face.  He was hurting her.  He was hurting her with his perverted, self-interested lust.  It was all his fault.  Once again, he was the reason Hermione was crying. 

 

He moved to sit next to her, his eyes on the floor.  “Maybe …” He couldn’t believe he was saying this.  “Maybe we should stop, then.”  The words stuck in his throat. Ron felt as though something inside him was dying.  “I don’t want you to feel like you’re not yourself.”

 

He wanted her to be happy.  That was the most important thing.  He forced himself to look at her.  Hermione was staring at him and when he met her eyes, she said, “Maybe you’re right.”  Misery filled her voice.  Then she let out a gut wrenching sob that tore at his heart.

 

Ron pulled her to him roughly, wrapping both arms around her as far as they could go, burying his head in her bushy curls.  Hermione sobbed even louder into his shirt.

 

He had no words to comfort her.  Hurt and disappointment were choking him.  Ron felt like he was losing something important.  He felt like he was losing her.

 

It was ridiculous.  He wasn’t _losing_ Hermione. She was right there … his best mate.  But the longer the minutes stretched out, the worse he felt and Hermione’s despair hadn’t faded.  He could feel it coming off of her in waves.

 

Why were they doing this to themselves?  It was insane.  It wasn’t fair.  They’d barely even gotten a chance to start.

 

“Hermione,” Ron forced himself to say.  “I don’t think we should.”

 

She nodded, miserably.  “It’s all right, if you want to stop …”

 

“No … I mean … I mean we shouldn’t stop.”

 

Hermione’s crying stilled and she pulled away, looking up at him.

 

“No listen,” he tried to explain.  “Since when do we give up after one little obstacle?  We can … we can work around this.”  He was talking nonsense, he knew, but she was listening raptly.  “We just need to, you know, be more careful.  Not let things get out of hand.  We can Practice _and_ be responsible.  I know we can.  Well, I know you can and I’ll … I’ll try as hard as I can.”

 

“But, Ron,” she said sadly.  “It’s so overwhelming.”

 

He shook his head.  “It’s only overwhelming because it’s new.  It’ll get better.  So, really what we need is _more_ Practice.”  Ron didn’t even know where that last bit came from, but he’d never been so bloody proud of himself.

 

She actually seemed to be buying it.  “I suppose that’s true,” she said, biting her lip.

 

He rushed to continue the momentum.  “We just need some ground rules.”  Yeah, she would like that.  Rules.  “Like no Practicing in a public place.”

 

Hermione gave a huff of a laugh.

 

“Or when Mum, or anyone else could find us, or when we should be doing something else.  We’ll just, you know, find a time when we probably would be alone anyway and instead of say, rowing …” She laughed again and he smiled at her in a way that he knew would make her melt.  “We’ll just Practice.”

 

“I suppose that would be all right,” she said with a shy smile. She looked much calmer.  Thank God!

 

Ron’s breath left him in a rush.  Disaster averted.  Feeling lighter, he smiled and said, “All right, then we should …” He started to stand.

 

Hermione grabbed his hand and pulled him back down to sit beside her.  She was staring at his chest when she said, “We’re alone now … and your mum’s out and everyone else is busy with that mess downstairs …” She glanced up at him through her eyelashes.

 

The arousal was back full force.  “I don’t suppose they really _need_ us to go through all that stuff …”

 

She nodded and licked her lips, making them glisten.  “And I did promise that _later_ …”

 

Hermione met him half way in a reverent, almost chaste kiss.  It filled him with emotion.  He felt like he’d almost lost her.  What would he do without her?  Without this?

 

Desperation overwhelmed him.  Ron reached for her and crushed her to him with a force he hadn’t intended, but couldn’t control.  She grabbed his head with equal passion, splaying her hands on either side of his face.  Her kiss turned as frantic as he felt and he began to devour her with equal fervor.

 

Maybe, just maybe, this meant as much to her as it did to him.

 

 

 

 

 

* * * * *

                 

 

 

 

Ron was wrong.  Hermione was selfish.  There were so many important things to worry about and no matter what he said, this made her feel weak.  She _was_ weak.  She couldn’t give this up.  She needed it.

 

Hermione pulled his face closer to hers, sliding her lips over his harshly.  She tasted tears and Ron.  She ate his lips as if they were ice cream and she hadn’t had dessert for a month.

 

She had almost lost this.

 

Her abdomen was filling with that new, scary hunger that pooled between her legs and made her moan and suck on his lips. Ron growled in response and she felt his teeth.  Hermione loved it when he was animalistic.  What was wrong with her?

 

He caught her with her mouth open, unawares, and plunged his tongue inside, aggressively.  He’d never been _that_ aggressive before.  The heat between her legs tripled.  She gasped and pulled away, frightened.

 

“Are you ok?” he asked anxiously, his breath coming in pants, his lips swollen.

 

Hermione nodded, licking her lips.  She could still taste him.  “Yeah, yeah, I was just startled.”

 

Ron cupped her cheek.  “It was too much.”

 

“No,” she said breathlessly, leaning into his hand.  “It was just a surprise.”  She looked at him and smiled lazily.  Hermione felt as though she’d taken a pain killing potion or something.  “I just think we need to Practice that one some more.”

 

He gave her his big, bright smile.  It made her dizzy.  He leaned back into her, then hesitated, making eye contact.  “You want to try that again, right?”

 

Hermione nodded.  “Uh huh.”  Her stomach seemed to be in her throat.  She licked her lips and parted them to encourage Ron.  He approached her head on and aligned their open lips. Carefully, his tongue came out and touched hers.  He paused, then came closer still and made a slow, meticulous perusal of her mouth.

 

It made her feel … treasured.

 

With equal hesitation, she allowed her tongue to run over his, earning a moan from him.  Ron’s uncertainty slipped away as he tilted his head even more so that their lips could fit more closely together.  He stroked her tongue with his and the dam broke.

 

Her mouth and tongue moved more quickly to match his, making him increase the intensity, making her slip into his mouth … soon their teeth were clashing and her head was swimming. 

 

She barely recognized that they had moved up to their knees and were pressed tightly together.  She was clutching at him.  It was too much.

 

Hermione heaved herself away, moving completely away so that she was once again sitting on the edge of the bed.  She clutched at the quilt as she struggled to breathe.  She snuck a look at Ron.  He was sitting on the side of the bed as well.  He looked like he was doubled over in pain.  “You all right?”

 

He nodded, looking at her breathlessly.  “Brilliant…it was just…”

 

“Intense.”

 

“Yeah, intense.”

 

“I wasn’t quite expecting that.”

 

He nodded.  “Yeah, we just need more Practice.”

 

Ron moved toward her again and she held up her hand.  “Wait.”  He looked stricken.  “I just need another minute … to calm down.”

 

Ron nodded and sucked his lower lip into his mouth, making her imagine it was hers.  He was staring at her like he wanted to devour her.  “Um, Hermione, could I … could I try something else?”  He was staring at her neck.

 

She gulped.  “Um … ok.”  Somehow, she didn’t think this would be any less intense.  

 

Ron slid on the bed so that their hips touched.  He brushed the hair off her shoulder, as she watched, transfixed. She felt as though she was dreaming as he leaned in and pressed a kiss to her jaw.

 

When he looked up at her, they were so close their eyelashes were almost brushing.  “This is ok, right?”

 

He must have been asking because of the rigid way she sat and the way she clutched the bed until her knuckles turned white.  Hermione barely managed to say, “Yeah,” her throat was so thick.

 

Ron went back to kissing her jaw line, leaving a path of fire.  Hermione could feel him watching her.  Surely, he could see the pulse beating in her neck.  It felt like it would burst.

 

He became a little bolder and the kisses became open and wet.  His hand was buried in her hair, holding her to him.  Her eyelids were too heavy to keep open.  His lips traveled along her jaw to the edge of her ear and then to the very pulse point that was giving her such trouble.

 

“Ron,” she found herself saying breathlessly.

 

He paused, she felt his hand clench at her side.  “Say it again,” she felt him say in her ear, huskily.

 

She shivered, not sure what to do.  Then he attacked her throat with increased vigor and it came out naturally.  “Ron.”

 

He growled again and nipped at her.  “God! Hermione!”  She couldn’t stand it any longer and grabbed his head, bringing his mouth back to hers.  They came back together as if they had never paused with clanking teeth and dueling tongues.  She wrapped her arms around his neck as far as they would go, mewling and swallowing his moans as well.

 

There was a loud knocking at the door, causing them to pause.  “Oy, you two, you can use magic now.  You might want to try a silencing charm,” they heard Harry yell.

 

“Harry!” Ginny admonished from the hallway.  “We don’t want them to do that _now_.  Are you decent? ‘Cause we’re coming in.” 

 

“Yes, we’re decent!” Hermione snapped, trying to smooth her hair.  Ron leaned over with his elbows on his knees, running his hand over his face.

 

The door opened and Ginny walked in, immediately bursting out laughing at the sight of them.  “You call that decent?”

 

Harry blushed when he saw them, shoving his hands into his pockets.  “Your mum’s home, dinner’s ready.”

 

“And you’re damn lucky she didn’t come up after you… ‘Ron,’” she moaned mockingly.  “‘God, Hermione!’”

 

Hermione closed her eyes in shame.  She would never forget the silencing charm again.

 

“Hey, um, I’ll see you down stairs, then.”  Harry scurried out.

 

Ginny rolled her eyes as he left and motioned for Hermione.  “Come on into the lavatory.  Lucky for you I know a few beauty charms.  Nice love bite, by the way.”

 

Hermione’s hand flew to her neck.  Mortified, she watched Ginny leave and rose to her feet.  Half way to the door she turned.  “Ron?”

 

“Hmmm?” He looked up at her without sitting up.  He was flushed.

 

“Um, I don’t think it’s a good idea if we sit next to each other at dinner…or across from each other even…it could be, you know, distracting.”

 

He nodded, Adam’s apple bobbing.

 

 “We should … um …” she continued.  “Be extra careful around people …”

 

“So we can focus,” Ron finished.  “Right; no public touching.”

 

Hermione nodded, biting her lip.  She turned and headed toward the door again.

 

“Hermione, wait!” he called just as she stepped into the hall.  Ron came over to her quickly and stood close to her … not touching her, but close enough that he may as well have been.  “Um about that …” he looked down shyly, then back up through his lashes with a pleading expression.  “We can still … you’re still going to sleep with me, right?”

 

A rush of affection filled her and pulled at her heart.

 

“‘Cause I can’t sleep if you don’t,” Ron finished.

 

She couldn’t help but smile at him.  She touched his cheek and brought his

eyes more fully back to hers.  “Yeah, ok, but…only after everyone is asleep.”

 

She was graced with another winning smile as Ron shyly turned and walked toward the stairs to the second floor.

 

Was he walking funny?

                 

 

 

 

* * * * *

 

 

 

Ron bounded into the kitchen for breakfast the next morning whistling happily.  He was the last one there, which was carefully planned, of course. Didn’t want anyone to think anything _uncharacteristic_ had been going on.  Ron had actually been up since dawn.  Ever since Hermione had quietly slipped back to her own bed.

 

He settled himself in a chair across from Hermione, but not directly across.  He didn’t want to distract her.  That’s right, he, Ron, distracted her.  He had the power to turn that beautiful mind to jelly and make her moan his name.

 

“Ronald!”

 

He jerked his head. “Yes, Mum?”

 

“I asked you if you wanted bacon or ham.  Weren’t you listening?”

 

Well, maybe she distracted him a little, too.  He should probably work on that.  “Um, both.”

 

His mother shook her head and filled his plate.  “That’s what you get for having too much of a lie in. Too much sleep addles the brain.”

 

Ron avoided answering by shoveling food into his mouth.  If only she knew what was really addling his mind.

 

“I hope you enjoyed it.  It’s the last one you’ll have in a while.”

 

Ron looked up to see who spoke, finding Adrianna sitting across from him.  He really hoped she wasn’t reading his mind and referring to Practice.  “Lass whah?” he asked his mouth full of food.

 

“Last time you’ll be sleeping in.” She took a sip of her coffee.  “From now on training starts before breakfast.”

 

“Whatever for?”  Ginny asked, aghast.

 

“Morning all,” Charlie called, sauntering into the room.

 

“Morning, dear,” Molly replied as her second eldest gave her a kiss on the cheek.  “It’s summer holiday, why should they be getting up early for lessons?” she asked crossly.

 

“Because,” Adrianna countered. “I have a piece of paper from the Department of Under Aged Magic that says for the rest of the summer I’m in charge of teaching _all_ four of them to _not_ die.”

 

Charlie interrupted the mutual glaring. “Adrianna,” he warned, before hissing in her ears, “stop antagonizing my mother.” 

 

“I’m not,” she protested softly.

 

“You are.”

 

They continued their hushed _discussion_ throughout the remainder of breakfast, lapsing in and out of English.  Ron wasn’t paying all that much attention.  Oh, he tried at first.  For Hermione, since she had said they needed to figure out what was going on with them.  But while it seemed that Hermione was right, as usual and that there was something going on, for the life of him, Ron couldn’t figure out why he should care.

 

Now, Charlie was pouting at Adrianna to transform his coffee and she was ignoring him.  Hardly menacing. 

 

“Dobby, could we have four glasses of water?” Adrianna called out.  “Ready for your first lesson?”

 

It took Ron a minute to figure out she were talking to them.  “We’re doing magic at breakfast?” Hermione asked, seemingly unable to decide whether she should be excited or appalled.

 

“Yup, now watch here.”  Adrianna pulled over Charlie’s coffee.  “A simple circle with your wand.”  She demonstrated.  “And _Cambi Lalimento.”_

 

“We’re going to make coffee?”  Ginny asked, perplexed.

 

“We’re making hot chocolate,” Adrianna explained.  Charlie started to protest. “Yours is Hazelnut Mocha, same as always.  It’s the same spell.”

 

Mrs. Weasley harrumphed, coming to stand over them like a mother hen, with her arms crossed.  “This is defense?”

 

“This is survival.  The first step in turning rocks to food.”

 

“The trick is getting it to taste like something other than rocks, which I’m willing to bet a month’s galleons they can’t do,” Charlie laughed.

 

“Shush!” she admonished.  “Charlie’s just bitter because he’s _challenged_ in this area. Ignore him.  I’ll walk you through it.”

 

Charlie sniggered as Ron and the others pulled their mugs to them. Ron didn’t have much hope that he was going to be able to perform this spell.  If Charlie couldn’t do it … he also wasn’t thrilled that his mother was standing over them watching.  Watching him be the worst in the group, which he always was.  It was bad enough that Hermione was always privy to these little humiliations ….

 

Ron glanced over at Hermione who was desperately trying to hide her eager smile.  She was so adorable.  Oh well, why let his ordinarily piss poor abilities at transfiguration ruin his good mood?

 

“Ok, close your eyes.  The key to all transfigurations is imagination.”  Adrianna started and Ron thought he heard his brother scoff.  “The better the image is in your head, the better the result.  I want you to imagine the best cocoa you’ve ever had.”

 

Ron relaxed in his chair; this was something he could handle.  He remembered the amazing hot cocoa they had been served during their numerous trips to the Hogwart’s hospital wing.

 

“Think about how it tastes, hold it in your mind …”

 

Mmmm. It was rich and warm, the perfect combination of sweetness with a touch of bitterness.  There was the rich, smooth taste of heavy cream ... and just a touch of cinnamon.

 

“Imagine how it feels on your fingertips, on your tongue, your lips…”

 

What were they talking about? The feel of Hermione, beneath his hand, his lips, his tongue, sprang to his mind.  Right, cocoa. The thick, velvety feel of chocolate as it flowed over his tongue.  Mmmm, chocolate and Hermione, hot, but not hot enough to burn.

 

“How does it look …?”

 

That was easy, it was a warm, deep, heavenly brown, the color of Hermione’s eyes.

 

 “Finally, the smell …”

 

Ron breathed in, unconsciously, smelling the warm chocolate smell.  Damn, now he was hungry again.

 

“Ok, open your eyes, one circle, clockwise with your wand and say _Cambi Lalimento.”_

 

Ron was the last to perform the spell, feeling relaxed and hazy for some reason.  He could still taste chocolate and Hermione on his tongue. “ _Cambi Lalimento.”_

 

He didn’t actually realize what was happening, when it was happening.  Ron watched the water swirl and turn thick and brown…into the exact color of Hermione’s eyes.  Ron frowned, touching it with his fingers.  It was hot and clung to him.

 

He looked around.  Harry’s mug looked like water with a drop of chocolate melted in it.  Ginny’s was a thin, watery brown.  Hermione’s, of course, was a thick dark brown.

 

“Not bad,” Adrianna said.  “Hermione’s and Ron’s look really good,” she added, with a sideways glance at Charlie. 

 

“I bet it tastes like mud,” he replied.

 

Hermione looked affronted and immediately lifted up her mug to take a sip.  She tried valiantly to hide her grimace.  “It doesn’t taste like mud, exactly,” she said over Charlie’s laughter.

 

Adrianna glared at Charlie.  “Ron, try yours.”

 

Hesitantly, he lifted the mug to his mouth.  If Hermione’s cocoa tasted bad, his would probably taste worse than those slugs he vomited.  Everyone’s eyes were on him, making it much worse.  He closed his eyes and forced himself to drink.

 

“So?”  Ginny prompted, eagerly.

 

Ron just held out his cup to his teacher, who frowned and took it.  She drank without hesitation, smiling broadly.  “This is fantastic Ron! I didn’t know your were so good at Transfiguration.” She turned to Charlie, “Ha!”

 

“He’s not,” Harry said, sipping his own cup and frowning.  “Blah.  Tastes like water.”

 

“Give me that,” Charlie grabbed Ron’s mug and drank.  His face betrayed his surprise.  “How did you do that?’

 

“Charlie, your brother clearly has more imagination than you do,” Adrianna teased.

 

“He’s got a bigger stomach, is what he has,” Charlie countered.

 

Molly lifted the mug out of her son’s hand and drank.  “Why, Ron, that’s wonderful.”

 

Ron couldn’t help but smile as he watched Hermione’s disbelieving face as she too tried the cocoa and gave him a look of awe.  He’d never felt so proud … well, maybe last night when he made her moan his name …

 

This was really turning into quite a brilliant summer.

 

 

 

 

* * * * *

 

 

                 

Ginny stifled a giggle as Ron knocked Harry over with a particularly enthusiastic _Expelliarmus._    Adrianna was assessing their previous Defense Against the Dark Arts skills, one by one.  They were in the ballroom, using the side they had already cleared out.  Luckily for Harry, Adrianna had transfigured some blankets and pillows into padding for walls and floors. 

 

Ginny thought her brother’s usual sloppy magic was at its best today, probably due to the confidence boost afforded by the whole hot cocoa thing.  Given Ron’s unhealthy obsession with food, she was astonished that anyone was surprised.

 

Though how he could concentrate with the presence of his snog buddy, as well as with their instructor’s constant bickering with Charlie ….

 

“Charlie, what are you even _doing_ here?’

 

“Just lending my emotional support.”

 

“That’s very thoughtful of you, but aren’t you needed back in Romania?”

 

“Not really.”

 

“Charlie!”

 

“I’ve taken holiday.”

 

“And how long is this _holiday_?”

 

“Haven’t decided, got a lot of time saved up.”              

 

And on it went.  Ginny was finding the current state of affairs marvelously entertaining.

 

“Ginny?”  Hermione’s whisper pulled her attention to the girl next to her.  “Do you think she’s distracted?”

 

“Who?  Adrianna?” the younger girl laughed.  “Yeah, I’d say she’s distracted.  Why?”

 

Hermione looked around anxiously, and then whispered, “We haven’t discussed the Death Eater incident since Harry and Adrianna came back.”

 

Now Ginny was distracted.  She glanced quickly between Hermione and the Empath.  Adrianna didn’t seem to be listening … to their words or their thoughts.  Though the way Ginny’s anxiety was rising, it probably wouldn’t be long before she got her attention.  “I told Harry about it,” she confessed.

 

“Oh,” Hermione responded lamely, looking down.  Ginny kept her eyes carefully trained on Harry and Ron, only glancing at the older girl out of the corner of her eye.  “What did he say?” Hermione asked.

 

“He thinks Adrianna is a target for Voldemort, now that she’s in his life.”

 

“Hmmm.”  Hermione lips thinned, as she said softly, “That’s one explanation.”

 

Ginny turned, looking Hermione in the eyes.  “What are the others?”  The question was genuine, she had no idea what had happened that night.  The idea that Adrianna was behind it all seemed absurd now.

 

 “It could have been someone working with Adrianna … no listen, she has all these connections and people are willing to do her favors … and no one was hurt at the Burrow, which is suspicious if Voldemort was behind it.”  Ginny continued to look skeptical and she continued, “If Adrianna was ok with us reading those books, why did she take them with her when she left?”

 

Ginny frowned, taking in Hermione’s concerned, analytical expression.  She steeled herself before saying, “I think we should ask her.”

 

“What?”

 

“I think we should ask her about the books and tell her about what the Death Eaters took.”  Ginny crossed her arms, ready for a fight.

 

Hermione shook her head.  “I don’t think that’s wise.”

 

 “She’s going to find out anyway … one of us will think about it at the wrong time.  This way we can gauge her reactions better.  Besides, she’d probably be able to help.”

 

“We can control our thoughts.  We just need to be careful.”

 

“Careful of what?”  Harry asked, making Ginny startle, having not seen him come over.  She looked to see Adrianna was now directing Ron through some of his fourth and fifth year charms. “Careful of what?”  Harry repeated.

 

“We just …” Hermione began.

 

“We were talking about the Death Eaters stealing the Empath stuff,” Ginny interrupted what was obviously going to be a lie from Hermione, judging from the scathing look she received.  She met the look, stating calmly, “I was saying we should talk to Adrianna about it.”

 

“Let’s not be rash …” Hermione whispered.

 

Harry looked at Hermione with a challenging expression.  “Ginny’s right.  I don’t know why I haven’t mentioned it before.  I don’t want to keep any secrets …”

 

“Hermione, you’re up,” Adrianna called, as Ron walked toward them.

 

“Just, wait, _please_ ,” Hermione entreated quietly as she walked over to the padded area.

 

Ginny leaned over to Harry.  “No, secrets, huh.  So, you told her about that pocket watch you took yesterday … and about what we saw on the Auror map.”

 

Harry’s response was to redden and give her a guilty half smile that made her feel a little flushed herself.  It was rather hard to be upset about a secret he kept from everybody but her.

 

“All right, now I want you to …”  Adrianna paused in her instructing of Hermione, turning to look at her curiously.  “What research notes?”

 

Ginny’s attention was immediately diverted back to Adrianna and Hermione.  Everyone else was looking at them curiously as well.  Ginny had _told_ Hermione that she couldn’t keep a secret from the Empath for long.  Was anyone _ever_ going to listen to her?

 

“What else did the Death Eaters take?”  Adrianna questioned Hermione, who stood biting her lip and grimacing.

 

Charlie sprung out of his chair.  “What about Death Eaters?”

 

“They took Hermione’s and Ginny’s research on me and Empaths,” Adrianna explained, crossing her arms and staring at Hermione intently.

 

“You were doing research …” Charlie accused.

 

“Of course they were,” Adrianna waved a dismissing hand.  “Wouldn’t you?  Which book, Hermione?”

 

The girl sighed, “ _The Legend and Legacy of the Empath.”_

 

“In the original German,” Ron offered helpfully.  “Hermione was translating the bloody thing…” He trailed off at the look he received from Hermione.

 

“Why would they want that?”  Adrianna said softly, almost to herself.

 

“Obviously, they are after you,” Charlie stated heatedly.

 

Adrianna rolled her eyes.  “There is nothing about _me_ in that book.  It’s a history.  Besides, it’s not like that’s the only copy in the world.  Why go to all the trouble of breaking in and stealing it?  It makes no sense.  Are you _sure_ , Hermione?”

 

Hermione took a deep breath.

 

“You’re not sure.”  The Empath stated.

 

“Well … it was at home when the Death Eaters attacked and I wasn’t able to look for it myself.  They didn’t bring it with my things … and I had told them to.”

 

“So, they could have been after something else,” Adrianna concluded.

 

 ‘’Drana, this is serious.”  Charlie was frowning.

 

She shook her head.  “What could they possibly have gotten that wasn’t common knowledge?  Ginny and Hermione didn’t know anything that would put me in danger and those books …”

 

“They do explain about your powers,” Harry called out with a worried expression.

 

“It’s nothing …”

 

Adrianna was interrupted by Charlie grabbing her arm roughly.  “I need to talk to you.”  He pulled her over to the far end of the room, behind a stack of unsorted Black family heirlooms.

 

Charlie began what seemed to be a lecture in that extremely annoying other language. As Hermione walked back over to her friends, Adrianna interrupted to call out, “Hermione, those books are in my room.  You can read them any time you want.”  Then she was drawn back into the intense argument with the older Weasley.

 

The four friends exchanged solemn glances as they came together as a group.  Ron broke the silence.  “Maybe we’re all overreacting.  Adrianna didn’t seem very concerned.”

 

“Yeah, but,” Ginny glanced over to the arguing twosome, “Charlie sure is.”

                                                                                         


	20. Discoveries

  
Hermione stood alone, in front of the massive bookcase in Adrianna’s room.  It was close to midnight and she was physically exhausted, but her mind was alert and exhilarated. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley and Remus had long since gone to bed.  
   
After being drilled all morning and afternoon on the defensive spells they knew, Adrianna had finally decided to teach them something new. As with everything else she did, she didn’t mess around.  So, in the late afternoon they began their first round of wandless magic.  
   
It made sense, really, when disarmed the most important survival technique is to rearm yourself.  Hermione could still feel the thrill, the sense of accomplishment, when she saw her wand, across the ballroom floor, twitch and shift toward her when called.  The magic came from her, not her wand … it was amazing.  
   
They had barely gotten started when they were called to dinner, drained and distracted.  The four of them hardly said a word while they ate ravenously.  Remus and Mr. Weasley engaged Charlie and Adrianna in a discussion about foreign Wizarding policy and there was surprisingly little bickering from anyone.  
   
After dinner, Mrs. Weasley had suggested that they retire early and Adrianna didn’t say a word against her, but unanimously, Hermione, Ron, Ginny, and Harry had begged to continue with the training.  So they had worked on, drilling themselves over and over until shortly after ten when every last one of them had finally managed to make their wand fly into their hands at least once.  
   
When Adrianna had first told them what they were going to do, Hermione had thought she was crazy.   Well, she always thought the Empath was a bit, well….Most full grown Wizards never mastered the task they were being asked to accomplish tonight.  In half a day.  Adrianna had simply said it was evidence of how truly powerful the four of them really were.  Hermione didn’t quite know what to think of that.  
   
But she was proud of her accomplishment, of their accomplishment…of Ron….who even now was so thrilled at what he had achieved, two difficult spells in one day, that he was across the hall having Adrianna teach him how to transfigure their narrow bed into ‘something more comfortable.’  
   
Hermione had always said that all he needed was to apply himself.  She couldn’t quite understand how he’d accomplished such delicious hot cocoa though.  She hoped he wouldn’t get discouraged he didn’t get the bed right, not after all he’d done today.  
   
Hermione perused the titles on the bookcase.  How much could you tell about a person about their book collection?  A dozen potion books, some books on healing, Defense Against Dark Arts books that bordered on Dark Arts books.  But then there was Magical Design, Making Life Beautiful, and How to Live in Luxury Wherever You Are.  A whole section was devoted to Muggle psychology.  What would an Empath need with those?  
   
Hermione’s eyes lingered on a book called Overcoming Trauma.  She ran her finger along the spine. She wandered on; many of the books weren’t in English.  For some reason a text called _Große Magische Liebe-Geschichten_ caught her eye.  
   
_Great Magical Love_ … something.  Half a German CD course does not make for fluency. Nonetheless, odd as it was, Hermione picked the book up.  Maybe it was the incongruity of finding it between the book about Death Curses and the scary looking text in Latin that appeared to have real bone in its spine.  
   
Hermione carefully opened the front cover finding a hand written note in the front cover that seemed to be written in the same foreign tongue that Adrianna and Charlie conversed in.  It was written to “Anna” and signed “Charlie.”  
   
Her heart beat faster.  She felt horribly intrusive, but justified her behavior by telling herself that the Empath intruded on them all the time.  Hermione noticed the inner binding was cut and she bent it back revealing a slip on parchment inside.  
   
Looking guiltily at the door she pulled it out.  It wasn’t parchment at all.  It was a photograph … a photograph of Adrianna and Charlie looking a whole lot younger and a whole lot happier.  She was leaning back on him and he had his arms wrapped around her.  
   
Were they in love?  Are they in love?  Did Adrianna feel for Charlie what she felt for Ron?  
   
Suddenly, the shame at her voyeurism was overwhelming and Hermione quickly shoved the picture back into the binding and put the book back on the shelf.  
   
But she couldn’t stop the questions from flowing through her mind.  What had happened to them?  What brought them from the moment the picture was taken to the tense couple downstairs?  Had there been a horrible break up?  Was it unrequited love?  Hermione and Ron had many happy pictures like this.  
   
Maybe they were best friends who were secretly in love with one another, but never admitted it so … which was completely ridiculous since Adrianna was an Empath and she could feel everything that Charlie felt … there would be nothing that he could keep secret.   
             
Was that what destroyed them?  The Empathy?  Hermione had a horrible selfish thought … she hoped it was.  That way what had ruined them, could never ruin her and Ron.  Then at least they could have a chance.  
   
She couldn’t control the dread that filled her, as she couldn’t control the images of her and Ron ending up just like them.  What if her plan didn’t work?  What if they never got together in the way that she wanted?  Would she end up like Adrianna?  Hard, arrogant, bossy, and alone?  
   
Would she run away for three years to escape the pain of being near him and not being with him?  Is that what Adrianna had done?  Run from Charlie?  
   
Hopelessness and helplessness filled her and Hermione knew she had to get out of this room and get these thoughts out of her mind.  
   
She found the books she was looking for.  She pulled the Diary and The Legend and Legacy of the Empath off the shelf.  On impulse, she grabbed the trauma book as well.  
   
Hermione paused in the hallway, halfway between Adrianna’s room and Ron’s.  She couldn’t go in there.  The Empath would know immediately what she had been doing, what she had been going through. She anxiously moved to stand against the wall next to Ron’s door, hugging the books to her chest and listening as she wracked her brain for a way to keep the secret.  
   
She heard Adrianna’s laughter inside the room.  “I don’t know what to tell you, Harry.  Seems he’s just a natural.”  
   
“Since when?”  Harry was laughing as well, but there was a twinge of envy in his voice.  
   
“I reckon I just have taste for the finer things in life, mate,” Ron joked.  
   
“Yeah, right,” Harry retorted and there were the sounds of a scuffle and Adrianna laughed again.  
   
“All right, I’m off to bed.  I’d suggest you two do the same.  We’re still starting physical training at eight.”  
   
There was a collective groan and Hermione jumped back.  Think of something else.  Oh dear, she had to think of something else.  
   
“Hermione?”  Adrianna said, now standing in front of her.  “Did you find what you were looking for?”  
   
Oh no, think something, sing something, a rhyme maybe.  
   
Adrianna gestured toward her books.  “Oh, yeah, I did,” Hermione managed.  “I took another one, I hope …”  
   
“That’s fine … have a good night.”  The Empath smiled and disappeared behind her door.  Hermione sighed with relief and entered the boys’ room.   
   
Two steps in and she froze.  Her jaw dropped open.  
   
“What do you think?”  Ron asked eagerly with a huge, boyish smile on his face.  
   
“You did this?” she asked, astonished.  
   
His reply was hurt.  “Is that so hard to believe?”  
   
Yeah, actually it was.  It was pretty much impossible to believe that the two large four poster beds, exact replicas of their dorm room beds in Hogwarts, had been transfigured by, well, Ron.  “But you were only in here a few minutes,” she protested.  
   
Ron frowned.  “We were in here for over an hour.  You’ve learned plenty of spells that quick.”  
   
Yeah, but this was, well, Ron.  Hermione always believed he wasn’t working up to his potential, but this?  Had he turned a corner?  Would he go back to school focused and ...?  
   
If Hermione wasn’t the smart one than who was she?  How would she fit in?  What would her role in Ron’s life be?  
   
“You could have some faith in me, Hermione.  I’m not a complete incompetent.”  
   
The look on his face broke her heart and she felt deeply shamed for her awful thoughts.  “No, of course you’re not.  It’s just … it’s amazing.  I’m amazed,” she said lamely.  
   
He smiled then.  “Adrianna said I’m a natural.  She said I was probably good at Transfiguration before, but I was never asked to make anything I cared about.  I mean, why would I want to turn a perfectly good rat into a goblet, eh?”  
             
Ron looked boyish and eager and so craving of approval that Hermione just couldn’t … “I always knew you could do it.”  
   
He smiled shyly at her, making her heart skip a beat.  
   
“Eh hem,” Harry cleared his throat.  “So, I’m … er going down to the kitchen for a bit.  When I come back I’m expecting that bed to be Imperturbable and no sounds to be coming out of it.”  He gave them a look that was at once amused, taunting, and excruciatingly embarrassed, before dashing out the door and closing it behind him.  
   
He left Hermione feeling more awkward toward Ron than she had felt in months.  
   
“So,” Ron said, with a lop-sided grin.  “You want to try?”  He bounced on the bed for emphasis.  “It feels as good as it looks.”  
   
It was the worst possible thing to say.  Is that all he wanted her for?  Was it all physical?  Was she making the biggest mistake of her life?  Hermione felt like crying.  
   
“Hey, what’s wrong?” Ron asked, with concern, sitting up fully.  
   
She shook her head.  “Nothing.”   
   
But she mustn’t have been very convincing because he got off the bed and uneasily approached her.  He fumbled a bit before wrapping his arms around her.  Then he seemed to remember what to do and tenderly embraced her, rubbing her back with his hands and her hair with his cheek. “Really, what’s wrong?”  
   
Hermione sighed, relaxing into him, not knowing if his warm embrace made her feel better or worse.  She shook her head into his chest.  “I was just thinking about Adrianna is all,” she confessed.  
   
He pulled back with a long suffering look.  “Hermione …”  
   
“About her and Charlie.”  
   
He pulled away and crossed his arms.  “About their secret?”  
   
“Sort of.”  She looked at the floor.  “Ron, do you think they’re in love?”  
   
   


* * * * *   


  
   
Ginny couldn’t sleep.  Adrianna had said that the first time someone did wandless magic it was intense, that it changed one in the process, that the caster became the instrument of magic and not the wand.  
   
Now the youngest Weasley knew exactly what she had meant.  The magic was coursing through her veins, making it almost impossible to settle down and sleep.  And she had only managed to bring the wand all the way to her hand one time.  
   
But she had done it.  She wasn’t sure she could.  Actually, she had been positive that she wouldn’t be able to.  Who would have thought a fifteen-year-old witch, an almost fifteen-year-old witch could do wandless magic?  
   
Ginny was on her bed, lying on her stomach with a quill in her hand and parchment on the hard bed before her.  A single candle on the bedside table lit the room. Taking advantage of her time alone, also known as the time when Hermione abandoned her for her brother’s bed, Ginny was trying to write a letter.   
   
She was trying to write a letter to Dean Thomas, the boy who had been hinting that he wanted to be her boyfriend all summer long.  And she had flirted right back.  And she certainly never hinted that she wanted anything different.  
   
Now, she stared down at the parchment, unable to think of a thing to say.  Oh, yes there was always: _“Hello Dean, sorry I haven’t written lately, but you see, I was attacked by Death Eaters and we had to go into hiding. Then Harry was missing, so … oh you remember Harry, right?  Your roommate, the one I’ve been obsessed with since the day I was born.  So, you understand, I’ve been a bit distracted …”_  
   
            Ginny sighed to herself.  She began to write:  
   
            _Dear Dean,  
   
                        I’ve missed you …_  
   
   
_Knock. Knock._ “Gin, are you awake?”  
   
Harry, of course, that boy had some timing.  Quickly, she folded up her parchment and hid it under her pillow.  “Yeah, come on in.”  
   
Harry entered shyly, closing the door behind him and sitting down across from her on Hermione’s carefully rumpled, but entirely unused bed.   
   
“Some day, eh?” he said, tapping his palms together nervously.  
   
“Yeah,” she said inanely, sitting up.  Harry Potter was in her room, with the door closed … and they were alone … and she had just been writing a letter to her almost-boyfriend.  Ginny was surprised that she could speak at all.  
   
“Yeah and Ron still managed to transfigure our beds into the four poster variety.  ‘Drana actually had to enlarge the room so they would fit.”  
   
“Really?”  Ron’s sudden skill at Transfiguration was getting more interesting by the hour.  Though to be truthful, it was making more and more sense to Ginny.  Ron had always been a tad intimidated by Harry and Hermione and he tended to react to that sort of competition by giving up.  It was the lazy way, plus it left less room for outright failure and rejection.  
   
In fact, Ron had been the youngest Weasley child to show magical ability.  Ginny remembered overhearing her Mum and Dad whispering about his potential when she was younger.  
   
“Em hmm, don’t you think it’s a bit odd that Ron can do these things easily? I mean, Hermione couldn’t even do it.  I tried to transfigure my bed and it collapsed in a lump. Ron fixed it.”  
   
“Actually, now that I think about it,” Ginny said carefully, “it makes rather a lot of sense, given what Bill and Charlie said about why Adrianna can do that magic.” Harry looked at her skeptically.  “It’s just that he … he’s always been really aware of the things we don’t have and really appreciative of nice things.  During first year he’d write letters about how soft the beds were and how smooth the sheets are.  He always noticed stuff like that.”  
   
Harry frowned.  “He never said anything.”  
   
“He doesn’t want you to know how much it bothers him, being poor, I mean.”  
   
“Oh,” was all he could say.  
   
Suddenly feeling uncomfortable again, Ginny rushed to change the subject.  “So did you come to my room in the middle of the night just to discuss Ron’s magical prowess?”  Oh God, that sounded suggestive, she needed to …. “Or are you just avoiding the love birds, or should I say the rehearsing love birds.”  
   
Harry laughed, making Ginny relax.  “Well, I did figure,” he responded, “that if I stayed away a bit, when I came back I could just pretend they were just sleeping behind those imperturbed curtains.”  
   
“Good thinking.”  
   
Harry looked nervous; his hands were tapping again.  “Actually, I wanted to talk to you about something.”  
   
“Me?” she wanted to ask, but knew she’d sound like that silly little girl she kept trying to convince people she wasn’t.  “What is it?”  
   
Taking a deep breath Harry reached into his pocket and pulled something out. Tentatively, he held it in his outstretched palm.  
   
“The watch,” Ginny breathed, shifting to the edge of the bed and leaning over to look at it more closely.  
   
Harry kept his eyes on the watch as he talked.  “It’s odd.  It was as though it called to me.  Directing me to take it and hide it, to not tell anyone.”  
   
“Except me?” Ginny asked in a light, joking way.  Inside she felt anything but casual about the new trust Harry was placing in her.  
   
He smiled guiltily.  “Yeah, it seems so.”  
   
Act normal.  She knew how to handle herself.  “What’s inside?”  
   
Harry shook his head.  “Dunno. I can’t seem to open it.”  
   
Ginny pressed her tongue to her top lip, deciding.  She bit her lip.  “Can I see it?”  
   
Harry nodded, extending his hand even further toward her.  Ginny stood, reaching out her arm.  She felt it acutely.  First the tips of her fingers made contact with his palm.  Then the cool gold touched her skin, and then … nothing was cold.  
   
The first thing Ginny noticed was a warm tingling sensation radiating from the watch.  She tried to pull away, but couldn’t, then she didn’t want to because an intensely pleasurable sensation shot up her arm.  She vaguely noticed that their hands were glowing.  
   
Ginny’s snapped her eyes to Harry’s as the pleasure filled her body and saw him gasp as he stared at her wide eyed.  The sensation crested and faded.  When she was finally able to withdraw her hand from the watch she did so slowly and was surprised to find she had taken it with her.  
   
Suddenly her legs couldn’t hold her. She collapsed onto the bed next to Harry.  He shifted uncomfortably and leaned forward onto his knees.   He took deep breaths before turning to look at her.  “What the bloody hell was that?”  
   
Had his eyes always been so intense, so green?  Oh God, she was aroused… and he was expecting a response.  All she could manage was to shake her head. She looked down at the object cradled in her palm. “Harry, it’s open.”  
   
He leaned closer, making the throbbing she felt even keener.  Ginny forced herself to look at the watch.  She flipped it fully open.  The base held three faces, one for the month, the day, and the time.  On the underside of the cover was a year.  “June 15, 1507, eleven- twelve in the morning,” she read aloud.  “Does that mean anything to you?”  
   
Harry shook his head.  “I think we should tell Adrianna in the morning.  I shouldn’t have … it could be dangerous.”  
   
Tell Adrianna.  They probably should, but somehow choosing her as the only person they told made Ginny nervous.  “And Charlie … is that ok?”  
   
He hesitated, but nodded.  They sat in silence for long minutes before Harry said, “I reckon we should get to bed, we have to get up early and … I’m really drowsy now for some reason.”  
   
Now that he mentioned it, so was Ginny. “Yeah, all right, see you in the morning.”  
   
He smiled shyly as he left the room.  
   
It wasn’t until he was gone that she realized that he had left the pocket watch behind.  She didn’t know why, but she closed it and hid it in the bottom drawer before collapsing into bed.  
   
Ginny was asleep before her head hit the pillow.  
   
   


* * * * *  


   
   
“Ron, do you think they’re in love?”  
   
Ron felt like he had been kicked in the gut.  Never in his life had he had a discussion about love, never mind being “in love.”  It was a frightening topic, one he had avoided even contemplating.  
   
But here he was, with Hermione looking up at him with those beautiful, expectant chocolate brown eyes, all soft and vulnerable and somehow it had never been this terrifying. What was she expecting of him?  What did she want?  He wished she’d just tell him what to say.  
   
Just hearing the words ‘in love’ tumble from her lips made his heart squeeze, his stomach turn, something deep inside move … he really wasn’t ready to contemplate what it was … oh, God … it was Hermione, he couldn’t put into words what he felt for her at the moment.  He couldn’t.  He really didn’t want to.  
   
“I dunno,” Ron croaked.  “What do you think?”  
   
They weren’t touching any more.  He had stepped away, but they were still close enough that Hermione had to tip her head back to look at him.  “I’m not sure.  I think they may be, or were at one point, or one of them … there’s an intimacy, you know?”  
   
Hermione bit her lip.  Ron was having a really hard time remembering who she was talking about. Oh right, Charlie and Adrianna. Who cares anyway if they’re in love? Why were they messing with his relationship … friendship with Hermione by making her talking about … things.   
   
Was this even about Charlie and Adrianna?  Because it really didn’t feel like it.  
   
Now Hermione was looking extremely vulnerable.  What was he supposed to do now?  He wanted to take her back into his arms, but he felt as though he couldn’t.  Would it mean something if he did?  If he didn’t?  Did it matter?  He couldn’t think straight.  
   
Hermione was looking at him, waiting for a response.  He shook his head, hoping that would be some sort of answer to the question he forgot.  
   
She sighed, crossing her arms and walking away from him, to sit on the bed he had transfigured just a little while ago.  He’d been so proud of what he did.  He wanted her to be proud as well.   
   
“Can’t you feel it?  The tension between them?” she asked.  
   
Was she still talking about Adrianna and Charlie?  He took a deep breath and sat next to her, careful not to touch her.  “Is … is that what love looks like?” he forced the words out, through a constricted throat.  
   
Her response was annoyed.  “I don’t know, Ronald, that’s why I asked ‘do you think they are in love?’”  
   
Great, now he was in trouble.  He rubbed his sweaty palms against his pajama bottoms.  “I … I  dunno … I don’t reckon I know anything about being in love … what it looks like…what it feels like.  It’s not something … I just dunno, Hermione.”  
   
He was the stupidest bloody idiot in the entire world and he was sure that Hermione knew it.  Ron closed his eyes in shame.  
   
Hermione’s voice drifted to him softly.  “I don’t suppose anyone really knows about being in love until they are.”  Her voice was thick, but strangely emotionless.  “They say you just know.”  
   
Ron’s eyes snapped to hers.  “That’s completely daft!” he bit angrily, not understanding why he was so upset.  “If … if you … if someone doesn’t know what love means how the hell are they supposed to know if they’re in it?  It’s just a word, Hermione.  If you don’t know the definition, you can’t apply it … you could be in love all along and …” His tirade sputtered and slowed, his heart beating quickly.  “You might not know it.”  
   
Hermione searched his face, sighing softly.  “I suppose that’s true.”  He watched her swallow, transfixed.  
   
Then a horrible thought occurred to him.  “How do you know about being in love if you’ve never been?” he accused.  
   
She turned her head away, making dread and jealousy fill him.  “I reckon I don’t,” she said.  She almost seemed teary.  She stood.  “Maybe I should sleep in my own bed tonight.”  
   
“What!” he roared, feeling as though he’d been kicked in the stomach, again.  She paused but wouldn’t look at him.  Ron felt hurt…betrayed even.  “That’s not fair, Hermione.  What did I do? You know I can’t sleep without you.  You know I need you.  Why…” Ron turned away, disgusted with himself.  
   
He felt her take his hand.  He looked over and she smiled softly at him.  “Let’s just go to bed then.”  Hermione climbed into bed and used her wand to turn off the candles.  
   
Ron hesitantly followed her and pulled the curtains down, cloaking them in darkness.  He lay down on his back.  Not one part of him touched her.  Why did he make a bigger bed again?  
   
“You did a nice job with the bed,” he heard her whisper.  
   
Ron smiled. “Thanks.”  
   
“Night, Ron.”  
   
“Night.”  
   
He stared at the top of the canopy, no hope of actually sleeping.  Hermione’s original question haunted him for some reason.  Were Charlie and Adrianna in love?  
   
He knew nothing of love, but he knew that Charlie cared for Adrianna.  His brother said he once knew her as well as Ron knew Harry and Hermione.  Did Charlie feel for Adrianna what he felt for Hermione?  Whatever the hell that was.  
   
And why had Adrianna left.  Fuck, if Hermione ever left him, he’d…  
   
A horrible, restless desperation filled him.  “Hermione?” he called.  
   
“Mmm,” he heard from the other side of the bed.  
   
“You know, about Adrianna and Charlie…you won’t ever leave, right?  Because I wouldn’t … just tell me if you want to leave or if you need something … we’ll work it out or something … anything … anything you need.  Just don’t leave, ok?”  
   
“Ron,” she almost sobbed his name.  He felt her fumbling for his hand and he grasped it firmly, holding on for dear life.  
   
“Promise,” he commanded.  
   
“Ok … yeah, I promise.”   
   
Ron reached for her urgently in the dark.  He found her face and felt relief; he cupped her jaw and felt her tears.  He pressed his lips to hers with no small amount of desperation. Not like the previous desperation born of passion or lust … this desperation came from someplace deeper … darker … unseen.  
   
He kissed her tenderly, slowly and open mouthed and she responded in kind.  Ron poured every once of emotion that he couldn’t name into that kiss.  Feeling her tongue against his, feeling the insistent pressure of her lips and the taste of her tears, he knew that she was feeling some semblance of the turmoil and need that he felt.  
   
It was all too much.  
   
Hermione pulled away sniffing and he rubbed her cheeks with his thumbs, resting his forehead against hers, willing her to understand what she meant to him, even if he didn’t understand himself.  
   
She sighed and gave an almost laugh, embracing him and laying her cheek on his chest.  Ron relaxed, rolling onto his back and taking her with him.  He stroked her hair and kissed her crown.  
   
They didn’t speak.  Eventually they slept.  Before he succumbed, Ron allowed himself to question, just once ….  
   
Is this what it felt like to be in love?  
 

 

  
* * * * *

 

        
             
It was the strangest dream that Harry had ever had, which was saying something.  For one thing, he’d never been so acutely aware that he was having a dream.  
   
He was in a castle…but not Hogwarts, somewhere else. There were house elves, in very fine matching blue and green towels.  They were dressing him … in tights! He realized he was dressed in some sort of medieval crap. When he tried to look closer, he realized that he wasn’t in control of his body.  The man he was in the dream was lacing up his shirt, but Harry couldn’t stop him from doing it.  
   
Then a house elf held up a mirror and Harry understood why.  He wasn’t Harry.  He was someone else; someone with brown hair, brown eyes and a beard.  
             
An elf added an embroidered cream colored robe to his shoulders and the mirror addressed him.  “You look very handsome, Lord Alexi.  Quite fitting.”  
   
Only he wasn’t addressed in English, it was…Russian? Maybe.  The odd part was that somehow Harry understood it.  
   
A man entered, a wizard perhaps, in long, heavily embroidered and jewel-encrusted blue and green robes.  He looked like the man in the mirror, but older.  The man greeted him with a proud smile and a clasp of the shoulder.  “My son, you do your family proud today,” he said in the same unfamiliar language.  
   
Harry felt nervous … no, this man, Alexi, felt nervous.  Harry was just along for the ride.  
   
“Come, you must meet your bride.”  
   
And Harry understood why he felt nervous.  Suddenly he knew, actually had the knowledge, that this would be the first time he would meet this woman and that today was his wedding day.  
   
Why was he just nervous?  He should be terrified.  
   
Harry was lead out of the castle where the grounds were a sea of witches and wizards.  He hadn’t seen so many people since the Triwizard tournament.  They were all here for a wedding?  
   
He and his … father came to the front of the group of people, in the upper corner.  In the opposite corner appeared a witch in embroidered cream robes identical to his own and wearing a heavy veil.  She was also walking next to an older wizard.  
   
As they approached each other, Harry could feel this man’s fear, his trepidation.  He felt Alexi’s desire to turn and run.  His hands shook as he walked toward the witch and he hid his hands in his robes. Then they were together in front of an altar and Alexi held his breath as her father lifted his bride’s veil and uncovered her face.  
   
All the breath left him.  
   
The woman … no, girl, she couldn’t be more than Harry’s age, had long, soft strawberry-blond hair and clear blue eyes.  Harry had never seen someone so beautiful.  No … that was Alexi’s thought, not Harry’s.  Though Harry thought she was … nice looking, very nice looking.  There was something achingly familiar behind her eyes, which seemed to draw him in.  
   
Now he was overwhelmed by Alexi’s feelings of relief … of lust … of sheer happiness.  Harry felt his face curve into a smile as he enthusiastically took her soft hands.  
   
The girl smiled back shyly and blushed.  She seemed pleased.  
   
Alexi didn’t take his eyes off of her for the entire ceremony. She kept glancing down bashfully, though, and Harry couldn’t quite study that … that thing he saw in her eyes.  
   
Harry learned that his full name was Alexander and that she...she was Helana.  The ceremony was in still another language, but nevertheless, Harry understood.  
   
All Alexi could think of was getting to kiss Helana … and oh … oh!  Shite those were dirty thoughts he was hearing.  
   
She did seem to have nice breasts.  
   
But blimey, this man was a perv; she was like … Ginny’s age.  Alexi seemed obsessed with the wedding night.  Harry could feel the arousal and he hoped that the dream lasted until the wedding night.  
   
Shite, now he was the perv.  
   
The ceremony was over and Alexi leaned down to kiss Helana with no little enthusiasm.  The simple brush of lips was electrifying and Harry had never felt anything like it.  Maybe this was just what it was like to kiss a girl who wasn’t crying.  
   
The cheers were deafening.  Helena was smiling broadly and Alexi melted.  Harry caught that look again …  
   
There was a knocking, which didn’t make sense since they were outside on the grounds.  Then someone was calling his name … “Harry” … not “Alexi.”  They were insisting that he wake up.  
   
Harry didn’t want to stir. He wanted to see more of the dream.  He wanted to talk to the girl.  Pervert that he was he wanted to know more about this wedding night business …  
   
But it was too late and the dream was fading … he was rousing.  Harry’s eyes opened.  
   
Ron was already up and pulling on his jogging pants.  “Better get a move on, mate.  Your cousin’s a real slave driver.  Good thing Hermione’s up at dawn, eh?”  
   
Harry just nodded, barely listening, and got up to pull on his own jogging pants and t-shirt.  Ron slipped out to the loo and Harry picked up the pace.  He needed to talk to Ginny … before they talked to Adrianna and Charlie.  
   
Rushing down the stairs he almost ran into the very person he sought.  Ginny looked disheveled and distracted.  Her hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail.  Looking up at him, she determinedly grabbed the front of his shirt and dragged him into the drawing room.  
   
“Harry,” she whispered, her eyes wild.  “We need to talk before we tell the others.”  She licked her lips.  “I had the strangest dream.”

 

 

 

* * * * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to clear up any confusion.  There are several facts that JKR stated that are not in the books that I found out about after this story was conceived.  So to reiterate in this story Bill is 30, Charlie is 28, and Hermione will turn 16 in September.


	21. Soul Mates and O.W.L.s

When Harry stumbled into breakfast with his three friends, he was exhausted, drained, and exhilarated.  He had forgotten how good it felt to clear one’s mind and focus all one’s excess emotions into physical activity and just pound it out.

 

The clarity was bloody brilliant, and the ache in his muscles reminded him that he had accomplished something.  He was making himself stronger. From the groans echoing from either side of him, as Ginny and Hermione sat down at the kitchen table, Harry gathered that they felt somewhat differently.  At least Ron was grinning wearily.

 

It was hard to believe that Ron _didn’t_ enjoy himself after he had challenged Harry to a push-up war that left them both jelly armed for the rest of the morning. Harry had the suspicion that at least some of Ron’s tenacity at their competition (which Ron won by the way) was due to a desire to impress a certain bushy haired best mate that they shared.  And though Harry would have expected the eye rolling from Hermione he was surprised and more than a little bit disturbed at the admiration that lurked in her all too warm gaze.

 

Well, Hermione always did admire tenacity.  Harry grinned to himself and earned a questioning look from Ginny.

 

“Don’t look so smug,” she whispered to him.  “We’re _all_ going to be suffering for the rest of the day.  You don’t think she’s going to go easy on us in the magical training, do you?  Blimey, this is worse than Hogwarts.”  She muttered the last bit into a piece of toast that she hungrily shoved into her mouth.

 

“You should be glad it was that intense,” he wanted to tell Ginny, but didn’t dare.  Honestly, he had no idea how the two of them would have been able to keep the watch and the dreams from Adrianna if it hadn’t been.  It was ironic that she was teaching them the very techniques that were helping them deceive her. 

 

Harry just thanked God that the minute they had walked into the ballroom-turned-training room they began mental exercises to clear their minds, exercises that Harry had already learned and was hence relatively proficient at.  From there they progressed to grueling physical training that left little room for ponderings.

 

But still … why hadn’t Adrianna discovered him yet?  Maybe she already had and just wasn’t saying anything.

 

All in all, though, she was different now that they were at Grimmauld Place.  Things were easier before.  Harry had gotten used to his cousin’s constant attention.  She was always reading his thoughts.  He didn’t even need to talk if he didn’t want to.  He just _knew_ that she knew.  It was comforting to be unburdened of his darkest thoughts and still be accepted.

 

Part of him wanted her to unburden him of the watch secret, even as he fought so hard to keep it from her.  Why _wasn’t_ she listening to his thoughts right now?

 

It was all Charlie’s fault.

 

That’s when ‘Drana changed, became distracted.  Charlie was pulling her focus away from Harry, he just knew it.  The way he was hovering around her all the time, involving himself in all their lessons.  Didn’t he have his own life? 

 

 _Crack_.

 

Oh, great, now Bill was here.  Maybe they’d start telling private jokes and talking in tongues.

 

In that moment Harry took great pleasure in having a secret of his own.

 

“Hello,” Bill called with far too much mirth, in Harry’s opinion.  “How’s the almost-birthday girl? August 11 is only two days away.” He kissed Ginny on the top of her head.  “Wow, just about a teenager, huh?”

 

“I’ve been a teenager for two years, Bill,” Ginny replied heatedly, visibly bristling under her treatment as the baby.

 

Bill ignored her, humming as he went over and pecked his mother on the cheek.  “Morning, Mum.”

 

“Morning, dear,” she called, sipping her tea and looking at him, warily, over the ridge of her cup. “You’ve been coming around quite a bit lately.”

 

He flashed a cheeky grin and sat at the table.  “It’s all that wonderful cooking.”

 

Harry saw Ginny draw herself up before she spoke.  “Oh, poor Bill, the twelve year old not a good cook?”

 

Oooo, paybacks a bitch, Bill, Harry thought with satisfaction.  Teaming up with Ginny was certainly a good idea.  Pissing her off clearly wasn’t.

 

Adrianna choked on her coffee as she laughed at Ginny’s barb.  The approving glance she sent Ginny’s way did not go unnoticed by Bill who turned to glare at Adrianna.  “She is not twelve … this is your fault, you know,” he accused.

 

She looked at him innocently.  “My fault she can’t cook or my fault she’s twelve?”

 

Ginny laughed and Bill started to bite out a reply, but Adriana’s laughter faded and she narrowed her eyes at Bill, looking at him intently.  He flinched knowing something was coming and it wasn’t good.  “She’s a veela!” she accused. “A veela!”

 

Bill looked a bit frightened. “How did you know that? You need touch to read minds.”

 

“Not any more I don’t, and _you_ changed the subject.”

 

“Yeah, Bill,” Ginny grinned. “Please, tell us more about your twelve-year-old veela.”

 

“She’s not twelve and she’s not ... she’s only part veela,” he defended. 

 

 “Her grandmother was a veela,” Ron supplied.  “Oww!” he exclaimed, rubbing his leg, and causing everyone to stare at him.  “I must have bit my tongue,” he muttered sneaking a glance at Hermione.

 

His _non-girlfriend_ had her chin up.  “She _does_ have veela powers.  Isn’t that right, Ronald?”

 

Ron nodded rapidly.  “Yeah, she can bewitch you, that one can.  Make you do things you never would.”  He smiled at Hermione, then looked over and gave Bill an apologetic look. 

 

“Thanks,” Bill gritted at his younger brother.

 

“Well, now that it’s come up, I’ve found Fleur to be …” Hermione started carefully.

 

 “Rude,” Ginny supplied.

 

“Well, I was thinking more of …”

 

“Snobbish,” Ginny smiled with even more glee.  Bill really should have remembered she was a teenager.

           

“Yes,” Hermione agreed in a contemplative way.  “But also…”

 

“Shallow, self…”

 

“That’s enough Ginevra,” Molly told her daughter firmly.  “Bill,” she asked sweetly.  “Exactly how old is Fleur?”

 

Harry knew it was horrible of him to enjoy this so much, but oh well.

 

“She’s _twenty_ , Mum.  And she doesn’t use her powers on me.”

 

There were three sets of feminine harrumphs around the table, from all but Adrianna, who instead said pointedly.  “She’s too young for you.”

 

Molly turned her disapproving eyes on Adrianna.  “And that is none of your business, young lady.”  Bill didn’t have a chance to smile in triumph when she continued, her eyes on her eldest.  “That _is_ too young for you, Bill.”

 

The accused looked to Charlie who had his eyes firmly locked on his eggs.  “A little help here?”

 

Charlie shrugged.  “Against those four, I don’t think so.  You’re on your own.”

 

“Coward,” Bill muttered, turning to Adrianna, who he seemed to think was the instigator.  It _was_ true that no one had ever blatantly spoken against Fleur until Adrianna arrived.  “You haven’t even met Fleur, for all you know she could be…” he trailed off with a gesture that in appeared Adrianna was supposed to fill in for herself.

 

Apparently she did, because she gave him a skeptical look and said, “Please.”

 

The unspoken communication was too much for Harry and he threw his fork down with a clatter. “Would you _please_ stop doing that!”

 

There was a pregnant pause before Charlie sighed and said, “Adrianna can tell if two people are soul mates just by seeing them together.”

 

“Charlie,” ‘Drana grO.W.L.ed with a look that could kill.  “You know what happens when you tell people that.”

 

Ginny and Hermione were staring at her transfixed, a mixture of fear and longing on their faces, while Ron was looking anywhere but at Hermione.

 

“You mean you can tell who _our_ soul mates are?” Ginny asked carefully.

 

“Just by seeing two people together?”  Hermione sounded strangely breathless.  Harry was beginning to understand Adrianna’s apprehension.

 

“See what you’ve done,” she spat at Charlie, and then sighed.  “I don’t actually have to see them together; I just need to have met both of them.”

 

“Since when?” Bill asked incredulously, for the second time today.

 

“Japan.” Her reply was a little too loud.  “Do you see the trouble you’ve caused?”

 

Bill smiled roguishly, clearly enjoying the opportunity to pay Adrianna back and get the focus off his relationship.   “Not as much trouble as it would be if they knew how easy it was to get the information out of you.”  He laughed as a bit of bacon bounced off his forehead.

 

Adrianna was clearly flustered as she stared at her plate and studiously filled her mouth with food.

 

Mrs. Weasley’s eyes were alert with interest.  “I don’t understand.  If you had that information why wouldn’t you share it?”  Visions of wedding bells and grandchildren danced quite obviously in Mrs. Weasley’s eyes.

 

Adrianna shook her head, a sour look on her face.  “The information is dangerous.  I can tell you that you and your husband are soul mates, because you’ve been married for over thirty some odd years. But what if you had known when you were sixteen?  How would it have changed you? Would it have ruined things because you felt forced into it, or because the intensity and the _forever_ of it was too much? Or would it have been too easy? Maybe it would have made you compliant, so that you never really learned to appreciate each other, took away all the struggles that were necessary to build the character needed for a long healthy relationship. And what if you knew I had this power, but you weren’t soul mates and you asked and I didn’t answer?  Then you assume, correctly, that you are not soul mates and a happy thirty year marriage falls apart.”

 

She looked miserably into her food and dropped her fork.  Molly had watched her calmly and thoughtfully throughout her last speech.

 

Charlie broke the tension in the room by continuing to explain, softly, “Most people never find their soul mates. They can still have very fulfilling relationships.”  Then he muttered into his food, “At least that’s what they say.”

 

“Adrianna.”  Harry’s eyes were pulled to his right as Hermione very seriously leaned forward and inquired as if she were asking a question in class, “Can you see your soul mate?”

 

There was more than one sharp intake of breath, as ‘Drana’s eyes snapped to hers. “No,” she said shortly.  “I can’t _see_ myself, so it doesn’t work.”

 

Charlie seemed to be having trouble swallowing as well and he pushed his plate away.  They were all going to get indigestion at this rate.

 

Bill cleared his throat.  “On a more pleasant note, I _actually_ came here bearing gifts. A friend of mine has offered me his flat in Nice for a week as a bit of a returned favor as you will.  As my ‘twelve year old girlfriend’ hates the feel of those little pebbles under her feet, I thought Mum and Dad might like to go instead.”

 

“Oh!” Mrs. Weasley had a surprised look on her face as she looked over at her husband.

 

Mr. Weasley, who had been awfully quiet during the whole meal, smiled carefully at his son, “That’s very thoughtful of you, Bill.”

 

“I just figured that you two haven’t taken a trip alone in years,” Bill explained.  “The portkey is all arranged for August 10, tomorrow, afternoon.”

 

“Well, that’s lovely!”  Molly’s hand flew to her chest, she was clearly touched.  Then her eyes narrowed, just a tad.  “What’s this all about, Bill?”  Her eyes darted to Adrianna when she asked the question.

 

But Adrianna was looking at him with suspicion as well.  The intensity of her gaze showed that she was reading him.

 

 “Nothing, Mum, I just thought it would be pleasant … and I thought it would be nice if her big brother threw Miss Ginny a Birthday party.”

 

Ginny’s eyes lit up and Harry’s stomach dropped.  He didn’t want Ginny’s friends coming over and distracting _her_ as well.  He needed her. 

 

“Can I invite my …?” she started to ask.

 

She was cut off by simultaneous “no”s from both her parents and Bill.

 

“Sorry, Gin,” Bill said.  “It’s too dangerous to invite people not in the Order to Grimmauld Place.”

 

“And even if it weren’t…”  Molly gave her a pointed look.  “You would not be inviting that so called boyfriend of yours, young lady.”

 

Boyfriend?  Who said she had a boyfriend?

 

“Dean …” Ginny started.

 

Shite, Dean.  Harry had forgotten about him.

 

“Is absolutely _not_ coming,” Mrs. Weasley finished firmly.

 

Ginny was irate.  “Then exactly who is coming to _my_ birthday party?’

 

“Fred, George, Alicia, Angelina…” Bill said and Ginny pouted.  Seemed like good choices to Harry.  “Fleur.”

 

“She’s not in the Order,” Ginny exclaimed, but her protest was largely ignored, despite being a legitimate point.  ~~~~

“Don’t fight that one, Ginny,” Adrianna said with a gleam in her eye.  “I really want to meet this Flower person.”

 

Ginny matched her grin.

 

Harry almost felt sorry for Bill.

 

 

 

* * * * *

 

 

           

By mid afternoon Hermione was feeling drained and, to be perfectly honest, a bit on the exhausted side.  Her muscles ached and her head throbbed from the strain. Training with Adrianna was intense, but mostly Hermione found it exhilarating.  What was making her head pound was the stress of maintaining her focus on training while still taking careful stock of her two teacher’s interactions.

 

That and the strain of keeping her focus _off_ a certain tall redhead who looked devilishly handsome when he was concentrating.  His forehead would bead with sweat and his jaw got this determined set when he was trying something new.  When he threw Harry across the room with the force of one of his shields it had been…well, downright sexy.

 

See! That’s what she was talking about.  It was darn near impossible to keep up with it all!

 

Regardless of all the distractions, Hermione was quite proud of what she had managed to accomplish today.  She could now do the wandless _Accio_ charm without difficulty; she could perform the N.E.W.T. level shield charm, and was well on her way to learning the more powerful shield that they were currently being taught.  And, more importantly, she had gleaned some very useful information about Adrianna from an extremely interesting interaction she had had with Charlie earlier that day.

 

Charlie had been standing behind Adrianna as she was instructing Ginny, when he had suddenly accused.  “You’re blocking me! Aren’t you?”

 

Blocking out what, exactly, was the question that Hermione was still pondering.  As far as she could tell, Charlie had just been standing there.  Had he been _trying_ to communicate with the Empath?

 

But Adrianna’s response had been even more revealing, when she had snapped at him, “Yes, Charlie, I am. I’ve been blocking out mostly everyone, recently.  It’s the only way to maintain my Goddamned sanity in this place.  Between the hostility, the teenage angst, and the raging hormones…”

 

Hermione had blushed a bit at that.

 

“You could never block me in the past,” Charlie had protested.

 

“Yes, well, that was why I was _sent_ to Japan, wasn’t it?”

 

The emphasis on ‘sent’ was also interesting and Hermione tucked that clue away.  After careful observation of the Empath for the remained of the morning Hermione had come to the conclusion that Adrianna was only reading the thoughts of the person she was directly instructing.  Which, of course, was _extremely_ useful information.

 

It meant that Hermione could get away with a lot more than she originally thought she would be able to get away with.  It was a simple matter of watching Adrianna when she wasn’t watching her and if the woman moved her focus to Hermione then Hermione would look over at Ron and let all other thought flow out of her mind.  It was working splendidly, actually even though it had been difficult to pull herself back to focus on the spells again.

 

As she watched, Ron created a perfect shield.  It shimmered blue-green in front of him.  Hermione smiled as she watched the emotions flow over his face.  Surprise, then boyish delight and humble pride, leaving him with a half smile that she wanted to kiss off his face.

 

God, she loved him so much. Was he ever going to love her like that?  Hermione thought about the discussion of love the night before.  It had never been more obvious that he wasn’t ready to be in love and while she was disappointed, there had been something more. 

 

Being with him felt so right.  As if it was meant to be. As if, maybe they were soul mates.  The phrase had been haunting her all day, just one more distraction to cloud her mind.

 

 _Soul mates._   Until today it had been merely a romantic idea.  Just like before she got her Hogwart’s letter, when magic was still the stuff of fairy tales.  And now … she wanted Ron to be her soul mate.  The idea that it might be someone else turned her stomach.           

 

It bothered her more than she could express that Adrianna knew. Knew without a doubt if Ron was the one she was meant to be with and was not about to tell Hermione. Although she understood the wisdom of that, it drove her crazy.

 

“Hermione, you’re not concentrating.”

 

Dammit!  Hermione turned to Adrianna beside her.  She’d missed the Empath coming over.

 

“Here, hold out your wand.  All the worry and frustration you’re feeling, use that,” Adrianna instructed.  “Yes, and the resentment, too.  Your passion and focus are your greatest strengths, use them.  Imagine yourself thrusting those feelings away from yourself and say the spell.”

 

Hermione did as she was instructed and created the blue-green shield.  She smiled at the sight.

 

“Feel better?”  Adrianna asked.

 

She did, she felt lighter.  The throbbing in her head had lessened.  “Yeah, thanks.”

 

“Well done, Hermione,” Mr. Weasley said in an impressed tone as he walked into the ballroom, taping a stack of letters in his hand.  Hermione wished he had come a few minutes earlier and seen Ron’s shield.

 

“What you got there, dad?” Charlie called.

 

“Hogwarts letters … O.W.L. results,” Mr. Weasley replied.  Hermione went rigid; she could feel the tension in the room heighten.  “Bit late this year.  Quite a controversy.  Seems O.W.L. marks were significantly lower than usual.  In particular, in Defense Against Dark Arts a small portion of students excelled and the rest … well lets just say there were very few O.W.L.s given out in that subject.  The parents on the education board were furious, blaming Fudge for assigning Umbridge.  In the end, they couldn’t do anything about the marks, but there will be more than a few curriculum adjustments this year …”

 

Yes, yes this was all very interesting, but …

 

Hermione couldn’t stand it anymore.  “Mr. Weasley could we just …”  She all but tore the letters out of his hand and hurriedly distributed them.  She ripped her own open with trembling hands.

 

She quickly pocketed her prefect’s badge and paused, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath before looking at the results.  She let the air out in a puff.  O … O … O … O … A!  Oh, well, that was Divination.  Considering she hadn’t taken the class in almost two years, she supposed that was to be expected.  

 

She looked up to see Harry grinning broadly.  “How’d it go, Harry?” she asked.

 

“Nine O.W.L.s,” he said, proudly handing his letter to Adrianna.  It occurred to Hermione that this was the first time he had someone to share his good marks with.  To say it meant a lot to him was an understatement.

 

His cousin smiled at him and took the letter.  “That’s great, Harry!”  She then looked guiltily at Charlie, whispering, “What does that mean?”

 

Charlie laughed and went up behind her to explain the scoring system.  “These are really good, Harry,” he remarked.  “Even an ‘O’ in potions.”

 

Harry beamed, even brighter.  “What about you, Hermione?”

 

“Twelve,” she replied, trying not to sound to full of herself.

 

“Twelve!” Ron exclaimed.  “You only took ten classes.  I know you took the Muggle Studies exam …” He grabbed at her letter.  “You passed Divination?  Why’d you even take the test?”

 

“I only got an ‘A’” she defended, grabbing the letter back.

 

“Well, I took the class and I got a ‘P,’” he said sourly.

 

Hermione felt dread fill her, and an anxiety that she hadn’t felt about her own marks.  The look on his face was _not_ good.  He was awfully pale.  She didn’t want to think about what it would be like if his scores were bad.

 

She carefully took his letter out of his limp hand, noting with some relief that he was holding his prefect’s badge. Looking at the letter she grinned.  “Ron this is great!  Eight O.W.L.s!”  She ignored the yells of congratulations.  “‘O’s in Defense and Magical Creatures. ‘A’ in Astrology … which isn’t fair, since the examination was so badly interrupted.”

 

“Didn’t affect you, did it?” he muttered.

 

“… and ‘E’s in everything else.  This is fantastic!”  Hermione could feel herself almost bouncing with excitement.  She wanted to kiss him, but knew she couldn’t.  She squeezed his arm…later.

 

“‘E’ in potions,” Harry said softly, in a dejected tone.  Hermione looked up, confused.

 

“Yeah,” Ron confirmed.

 

Why was that …? Oh. _Oh_.

 

 “Looks like you two will be suffering through Snape without me,” Ron gave a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.  “I reckon I won’t have to finish my summer potions essay.”

 

“Why not?” Adrianna asked, frowning.

 

“Snape only allows students who get an ‘O’ in potions into his sixth year class,” Harry explained, softly.

 

Her frown deepened, but she didn’t comment.  Adrianna handed Harry back his letter, complimenting him again.  Then she called an end to their training for the day and walked off with Mr. Weasley to ‘discuss something.’

 

Hermione only caught Ron’s back as he ascended the stairs.  Her brow furrowed as she looked around the now almost empty room.  “Where’d Ginny go?” she asked Harry.

 

He shrugged and gestured to the stairs.  He stuck his hands in his trouser pockets.  “Suppose we’d better … you take Ron, I’ll take Ginny?”

 

Hermione nodded absently as Harry ascended the stairs.  When had that become the natural choice?

 

Harry would take Ginny and Hermione would take Ron.

 

 

 

* * * *

 

 

 

Ron closed his bedroom door quietly behind him, tossing his letter and his badge carelessly on the night table.  He sat down on the edge of the bed and let himself fall backwards, so he could contemplate the ceiling.

 

He wasn’t sure why he was so depressed.  Ron had actually done better than he’d expected on the O.W.L.s.  Better than anyone had expected … he’d seen that look on Hermione’s face, the look that said she feared he’d failed miserably.

 

Maybe it was just this strange bliss that he’d been living in over the last few days.  Being able to do these complicated spells … it had given him a false sense of confidence, and being so … happy with Hermione. He’d allowed himself to think maybe, just maybe he was worthy.  Maybe he was good enough to be Hermione Granger’s boyfriend.

 

He was a complete and utter idiot.  But that was the point, wasn’t it?

 

“Ron,” he heard from the hallway.

 

Go away, Hermione, he screamed in his head.

 

“It’s me.”

 

 ‘It’s me.’  It’s the brilliant beautiful girl that represents everything he’d ever wanted but could never have.  The one who got twelve O.W.L.s after taking only ten classes.

 

 “Go away, Hermione,” he called back, though he wasn’t at all sure he was all that convincing.

 

“I’m coming in.”

 

Great, she should just do that.  He really needed his torment driven home.

 

Ron didn’t move at all as she quietly entered the room and closed the door.  He didn’t turn and look at her.  What was the point anyway?  It was all so hopeless.

 

He felt the bed shift, then saw her lean into his field of vision as she knelt by his head.

 

“Ron, what’s wrong?”

 

He offered only a grunt in response.  How he wished she’d leave him alone.

 

 Ron, you really did quite well on your O.W.L.s.  Eight out of nine is quite good …”

 

Yeah, but Harry got nine out of nine and Hermione got twelve out of _ten_.  And the bloody prat she was probably going to marry one day would most likely get thirteen God‑damned O.W.L.s, even if there were only twelve ruddy tests.  He’d probably get another one created just for him.  The pansy arse.

 

“Ron, are you listening?”

 

No!  He was mentally pummeling Hermione’s future fictional husband.  Couldn’t she leave him in peace?

 

She cupped his face in her small, perfect hands and forced him to look at her.  “Look at me.  You. Did. Well.”

 

“Better than you expected, you mean,” he muttered, forcibly looking away.

 

“Oh, stop being ridiculous.  What’s gotten into you?  Pouting that your good marks aren’t good enough.  Isn’t that my role?”

 

That forced a wry chuckle out of him and he glanced over to see her smiling down at him.  “Is this about being an Auror?” she asked.

 

Ron looked away again, shrugging.

 

“Honestly, Ron,” she said carefully.  “I’m … a little, well, glad that you won’t be training to be an Auror.”

 

His eyes narrowed back at her.  “Because I’m not good enough, because I’ll never make it?”

 

“No!” she replied sternly.  “No, I’m sure you’d be a fantastic Auror.  It’s just … I’d prefer you to do something more…’

 

“Appropriate for my intelligence.”

 

“Argh!  What nonsense!  You are plenty smart enough.  Something more _safe_ is what I was going to say.”

 

He looked at his feet.

 

“I kind of fancy you alive and well and not at all like Mad-Eyed,” her tone turned playful and he couldn’t keep his eyes from her smiling face.  “See, I fancy those legs of yours whole and I like your eyes the way they are and….” She ran a hand down his cheek.  “It would be a shame to scar up such a face.”  She was trying to be light but her voice quivered just a touch.

 

“But it’s ok for Harry?” Ron asked softly.

 

Hermione shrugged.  “Harry’s already scarred beyond repair.”

 

An incredulous laugh bubbled out of him.  “I’m going to tell him you said that,” he teased.

 

“Not if you fancy your life you won’t,” she said with a mock primness that dissolved into a smile.

 

Ron turned over on his side and offered her a small smile in return.  She laid down facing him and kissed his forehead.  They stared at each other for long moments.  He didn’t understand why she was there.  Why she kept bothering with him.

 

Feeling selfish, but needing the contact, he moved one hand to softly rest on her hip.

 

“Tell me,” she commanded softly.

 

And in that moment he could deny her nothing.  He sighed, “I guess I just thought that the Auror thing could be my thing, you know.  The thing that sets me apart.”

 

At her look of confusion he flipped onto his back and continued.  “The other day we were talking about Percy and why he was such a git.  Adrianna said he was like this because all the good identities were taken, because choosing to live the way he does means he doesn’t have to live in his brother’s shadows.  I reckon I thought that if I were an Auror I wouldn’t be in anyone’s shadow anymore, either.  Pretty stupid, huh?”

 

“Yeah, actually it is.”

 

His eyes snapped to hers.  He hadn’t expected her to openly agree with him.

 

“You don’t live in your brothers’ shadows.  You _have_ your own identity.”

 

He scoffed.  “Really, what am I that’s so special?  Bill is the handsome, smart code breaker, Charlie’s the _dragon_ tamer, Percy’s the ministry git, _second_ to the Minister of Magic, Fred and George are the brilliantly successful businessmen and possibly the funniest wizards in Britain.  What am I, Hermione?  What am I?”

 

“You’re the hero.”

 

He laughed mirthlessly and resumed his staring at the ceiling.

 

“Your brothers haven’t faced down three headed dogs, giant spiders, and an enchanted chess set.  They didn’t willfully face their fears to stand by their friends in the forbidden forest, the caves to the chamber of secrets, the shrieking shack, and the Department of Mysteries?  Have any of them ever stood up to a murderer, on a broken leg, no less, to save a friend’s life?  Because I seem to remember it was you.” 

 

“I was just following Harry,” he muttered softly.

 

“No, you choose to go with Harry.  Harry has to go, but you _choose_ to.  And _you_ were the only one that Harry wanted with him at the Department of Mysteries.  It’s the choice that makes you brave.  You go because it’s the right thing to do, because you care about Harry and you go without any hope of getting the glory.  _That’s_ why you’re the hero.”

 

Ron swallowed through a thickened throat.  “I really appreciate that, Hermione, but everyone knows that Harry’s the real hero.”

 

Hermione gave an exasperated sigh.  “Fine, then Harry can be everybody else’s hero, but you’re my hero…and don’t even think about protesting.  It’s my decision, you know.  I get to choose whoever _I_ want.”

 

There was nothing to do except kiss her at that point.  Ron didn’t really have the words to express what she meant to him, so he cradled her head in his hands and tried to show her with slow, wet, open-mouthed kisses exactly how much he treasured everything about her.  He did what he could to worship her with his lips and tongue, because no matter what she said he was not worthy of her.

 

But Ron’s attempts to fill her with emotion only served to overwhelm him with the same and he had to pull away before he fell apart with his patheticness.  He rolled onto his back and hugged her to him.  He could feel her head on his chest raise and fall with each breath.  He rested his chin on her head and took deep breaths, willing himself back to normalcy.

 

It wasn’t long before he felt tiny peppered kisses along the underside of his jaw.  Ron sighed, it felt so good.  He allowed himself relax as Hermione explored his neck, scarcely believing it was happening.

 

 He felt her tongue touch his ear lobe and he gasped in shock.  “Hermione?”  He looked down at her face and to find a pleased, guilty smile.  She bit her lip.  “What has gotten into you today?”  She really wasn’t acting at all herself.  She was a bit more … free.   “It’s those twelve O.W.L.s, isn’t it?  You’re positively giddy.”

 

She giggled, confirming his suspicions.  “I just think we _both_ deserve a little reward.  We did work awfully hard.”

 

Her playfulness may have been out of character, but it certainly wasn’t unappreciated.  Ron pushed all his dark thoughts away and dedicated himself to fully enjoying the experience.  Oh, yeah, and rewarding her.

 

He tilted her head back tenderly and lifted his so he could once again slid his lips over hers.  He let out a frustrated groan when they wouldn’t fit close enough, his neck not able to bend far enough. Cursing his freakish tallness, he wrapped both hands around her small waist and gently hauled her up, over his body, so that she was lying across his chest and their faces were level.

 

Mmmm. That was much better, he could tilt his head to fit his lips completely over hers.  This way he could taste her entire mouth and get his fill of her wonderful Hermione taste. He loved the way the top of her mouth was silky and smooth but her tongue was like velvet and the way when she moaned so deep in her throat he could feel the vibrations.

           

Remembering something, Ron pulled back slightly and saying into her mouth, “We forgot the Imperturbable Charm.”

 

Hermione shook her head, breathing harshly.  “We need to hear them when they call us for dinner.  We’ll just need to be quiet.”

 

That was a whole hell of a lot easier said then done when her tongue was in his throat.  He tried to control his groans and instead gripped her waist more tightly.  His tongue battled hers for dominance.  It occurred to him that this is what all their fighting over the years had been leading up to. 

 

She wound her arms around his neck, slipping them between the bed and his skin, and causing her shirt to ride up, baring her waist to his touch.  Without thought, Ron’s hands wandered up the sides of her body.  He paused in surprise as they accidentally brushed the sides of her breasts as they bulged out, having been crushed tightly against his chest.

 

Hermione hummed at the contact and gripped his hip.  Ron couldn’t help but smile into her mouth.  She was so bloody fantastic.

 

Ron allowed himself to discover the sides of the swells that had been the object of his fantasies since the first night that he slept in her arms.  He slipped his thumbs between their bodies to get better access.  Worried that he might be taking advantage, he pulled back slightly to whisper, “Is this ok?”

 

Hermione sucked his tongue back into her mouth violently and he decided to take that as a yes.  Ron enjoyed the taste of her for a few minutes more before setting himself to the task of getting to know her fabulous breasts.  It only took him a few minutes to become frustrated as he realized that in their current position with her on top, was not going to work for the task at hand.

 

Ron tried to move their position without interrupting the excellent snogging that was happening, but he rolled too quickly, it was fumbling and awkward … and the hand Hermione had clutching his hip wound up dragging across the place where he was throbbing against his jeans.

                       

He bit back a grown and Hermione jumped.  Ron’s eyes rolled back into his head at the sensation.  He was sure that his lip was bleeding he was biting it so hard.  When his eyes came back into focus he saw Hermione sitting above him with a frightened look on her face.

 

“Ron, what was that?”

           

  1.   Way to ruin the moment.  Now she was going to think he was a pervert; that he only wanted one thing.  She was never going to let him touch her again.  Feeling himself panic he tried a diversion, “What was what?”



 

That was pathetic, really.  Wasn’t it obvious what it was?

 

Hermione bit her lip, “By your leg.  I thought I felt something … I did feel something.”

 

“Hermione?  You don’t know?”  Ron didn’t know what to say.  He was going to have to explain to Hermione about the giant painful boner he was sporting because of her … and he would rather be thrown into a pit of giant spiders.

 

“Ron?” He watched her turn five shades of pink as the realization began to dawn.  Her breathing changed and her chocolate eyes stared to the offending object with wide eyed shock.  Unfortunately, his body didn’t get the hint that it should be ashamed and it throbbed under her gaze.  “I think I … just tell me, ok?”

 

He swallowed.  He could feel the heat radiating off his neck and face.  “Blimey, Hermione, It’s my … you know … it’s my …” he gestured frantically at his groin feeling more and more frustrated.  Wasn’t she supposed to be the genius around here?  “Crikey, Hermione, I’m a sixteen year old boy, what do you think it is?” he asked more harshly then had intended.

 

When Hermione finally spoke it was in the smallest of voices.  “Your … penis?”

 

Leave it to Hermione to use the most correct phraseology.  Ron nodded.

 

“Is it always like that?”

 

Like, what?  Fuck, could this get any worse?  He was starting to feel nauseated.  He shook his head in confusion, but mostly in denial that this was really happening to him.

 

She gestured to his erection again.  “Is it always so … you know … so hard … so big …”

 

Ron actually started to choke.  Did she mean lately, ‘cause … “No … I mean yes … I mean when you’re around.  No, no that’s not what I mean.  I mean when we’re Practicing, it’s generally like this.  Damn, Hermione, I can’t believe you haven’t felt it before.”  He didn’t know what he was saying, must be all the blood rushing away from his head.

 

It was Hermione’s turn to stammer.  “No, I didn’t notice … well, maybe I just didn’t know what it was … um … I really make you … excited?”

 

Ron had to laugh at that one.  She looked beautifully innocent sitting there and he was the big bad wolf coming to corrupt her.  “Yeah, you certainly _excite_ me.”

 

She licked her lips again and looked back at the bulge in his jeans.  Was she trying to kill him?  “Does it hurt?”

 

Yes! 

           

 “Um, no.  It’s uncomfortable … but mostly it feels good.”  He shouldn’t have said that.

 

“And you can’t control it at all?’

 

“Not really.”

 

“Oh.”

 

Her eyes remained on the bulge and he wondered if he would cum in his pants just from the look on her face and complete the cycle of his humiliation.

 

“Ron?” she asked tentatively.  “Would you mind, terribly if I … touched it?”

 

Could you laugh and choke at the same time?  No!  His mind screamed.  If she touched him, he was done for.  “Sure,” he croaked.

 

Hermione nodded, with an intense look on her face, as if she were learning a particularly difficult wand motion … well she sort of was … her fingers brushed him and his hips jerked involuntarily.  She withdrew her hand and looked at him with shocked eyes.  “Show me?” she asked softly.

 

 Something in her tone made his heart clench.  She was just … Ron didn’t have the words.  When he took her trembling hand in his, the very air around them felt odd … sexual yet … something else.  He pressed a kiss to her palm without thinking.

 

Ron took deep breaths to keep himself calm as he gently laid her hand, cupped under his over his erection.

 

His hand fell away and she lost some of her shyness, mapping out his dimensions with her fingers, with her characteristic curiosity and meticulousness.  First she allowed her hand to curl around where his hard cock was trapped painfully between the legs of his jeans and his thigh.  Somehow she managed to get her hand around two thirds of the circumference.  He couldn’t help but imagine her hand surrounding him entirely, stroking him, moving up and down … like he did while thinking of her. 

 

Then she was stroking him through his jeans.  Making him feel like he was going to die from the feel of it.  She traveled down, discovering the length of him, pausing as if confused where he tapered, and then lingering over the tip. He tasted blood from where he was biting his lip.  She traveled back up, until his jeans forced her to stop.  But she wouldn’t, she kept pushing.

 

He couldn’t stand it any more. He wrapped his hand around her wrist and pulled her hand away.  She looked up at his surprised, “What?”

 

Ron didn’t trust himself to speak so he pulled himself up, kneeling beside her.  He pulled her wrist to her neck and used his other hand to bring her face back to his.  He kissed her tenderly.

 

Which apparently was not what she had in mind.  Hermione clawed at his hair and pulled his face closer, thrusting her tongue past his teeth.  He moaned splaying both hands on her back as he crushed them together.  Ron spread his legs so that she could kneel between them and they could be as close as clothing allowed.  But it soon became apparent after a few minutes of frantic snogging that it was _too_ close for Ron to maintain control.

 

How was a bloke to survive this sort of thing?

 

Ron carefully laid her back, once again moving her away from that offending bit of his anatomy.  He hoped Hermione wouldn’t realize why he was moving them.  He couldn’t take any more questions.  He sucked on her tongue to distract her and it seemed to work. 

 

Another long while later she pulled away, gasping for air.  Ron was feeling that air was highly overrated and he began attacking her neck and he nipped at it lightly.

 

“Ron,” she called huskily.  “Don’t leave a mark … not where you can see.”

 

He smiled against her skin.  “Does that mean I can leave a mark where it can’t be seen?”  Hermione’s only response was a low humming in her throat.  Holy shite, he had been joking.

 

Not one to let an opportunity pass him by, especially not when it came to this sort of thing, he kissed his way across her collar bone and moved her shirt aside to kiss her shoulder, then down just a bit…didn’t want to press his luck, to the fleshy area below.  .He inhaled a bit of warm flesh and explored it with his tongue and teeth.  He was going to mark her as his.

 

Ron couldn’t believe this was happening.  He looked down at her with heavy lids, admiring his handiwork. She looked so sexy lying there, eyes closed, curls spread, lips parted, shirt rumpled off one shoulder, breasts heaving…

 

Breasts heaving.  He licked his lips, his mouth having suddenly gone dry.  Carefully, Ron laid his hands on her belly, over her shirt marveling at how small she looked against his awkward hands.  He carefully let them wander up, watching vigilantly for signs of resistance.

 

Before he knew it, he was there, cupping her fantastic breasts, and she was letting him.  She was letting him. They were even softer than they looked and more…springy.  He moved his thumbs a millimeter at a time, growing progressively bolder.

 

When he finally grazed her nipple she gasped, arching her back so that she dislodged him.  Blinking up at him she murmured.  “Wow.”

 

He beamed down at her.  Wow, indeed.

 

 “Ronald, dear, are you in there?’

 

At the sound of his mother’s voice Ron jerked away.  They stared at each other in horror.  Hermione began scrambling off the bed and Ron caught her arm.  He shook his head, whispering, “Hide on the bed with the curtains drawn.  I’ll get rid of her.”

 

“Ron?”  Mrs. Weasley called again.

 

 “I’ll be right there, Mum.”

 

Hermione pushed herself into the corner of the bed, looking at him with wide, wild eyes.  “Go!” she whispered frantically. 

 

That’s when he realized that he was still kneeling there, frozen.  With growing panic he gestured back to his groin, “I’m having a bit of trouble here.”

 

“Can’t you just …”

 

“No!  It doesn’t work I’ve tried!”  Horrible images, the idea of his mother finding them, Ron knew from experience that nothing helped.  What was he going to do?

 

“Ron?  You alright, dear?”

 

“Oh for heavens sake.”  Hermione scrambled over and grabbed her wand and a pillow. She murmured a spell, then pressed the ice cold pillow to his groin.  He gasped and gritted his teeth.

 

“Sweetheart?”

 

“I’m coming!”  He pushed her away almost violently.  A new kind of pain between his legs.  Jumping off the bed, he pulled the curtains shut.  He ran a quick hand through his hair and opened the door.  “Hey, mum.”

 

This mother looked over his rumpled appearance.  “Ronald, whatever have you been doing?”

 

“Um, napping, Mum.  Adrianna’s been working us awfully hard.”

 

She softened immediately and shook her head.  “Too hard, you’re _supposed_ to be on holiday.”

 

“No, it’s good,” he protested quickly.  He needed to distract her.  ‘Hey, mum, I got eight O.W.L.s _and_ I was made prefect again.”

 

His mother let out a high pitched squeal, grabbing his face and covering it with kisses.  “Oh, Ronnie, that’s wonderful! Oh, my baby boy!  Eight O.W.L.s  I can’t believe it.”

 

Yeah, Ron thought, as he hugged her back, and he got the distinct impression that it was more than she expected.

 

 

 

 

* * * * *


	22. Frustration and Release

Ginny slipped away from the ballroom unnoticed.  Not because she wanted to go unnoticed, but because it was a simple fact of her existence.

 

Up in her bedroom she tossed the shiny new prefect badge on the bed.  Who in their right mind would give her a prefect badge?  Didn’t they know that she spent half of her life hiding from those damn things?  But the answer was obvious … red hair, tattered robes … put them in Gryffindor and give ‘em a prefect badge.  Easy as that.  No thought involved.

 

You had to fail half of your courses and blow up a few classrooms to escape without one.  Ginny should have tried harder to be a deviant.  She hadn’t been brave enough to fail her classes that was the problem.

 

Not that it would have done any good.  With the twins having failed the requisite Weasley prefect hurtle, Ginny not getting a prefect badge would have gone as unnoticed as her having received one.

 

Why would anyone notice with the trio of heroes downstairs and their absurd twenty nine O.W.L.s between them?  Their mum would most likely throw a party over Ron’s eight O.W.L.s alone.  It’s bound to be exciting after he studiously lowered expectations over the last five years.

 

“Ginny, you in there?” Harry called through the crack in the door.

 

She stilled. The sad fact was that she hadn’t left the door open by accident.  Just because she slipped away without telling anyone didn’t mean that she didn’t secretly hope that she _had_ been noticed, and of course, hoped that someone would care enough to come after her.

 

It was pathetic and manipulative, but it was difficult to regret when the result was Harry Potter at her door.

 

“Yeah, Harry, come on in.”

 

Harry opened the door cautiously, and slipped inside, closing it behind him.  “You left abruptly,” he stated quietly.

 

And how long did it take anyone to notice?  “Yeah, well, I wanted to take advantage of the down time and get some rest.”

 

Harry didn’t look convinced; instead he walked over to her bed and picked up the discarded badge.  He fingered in carefully.  “I reckon congratulations are in order,” he stated wryly.

 

Ginny gave a short, bitter laugh at the irony.  Harry was looking at the badge as if it meant something.  “It’s no big deal.”

 

The look he gave her was sardonic.  “Easy to say when you have one.”

 

“Yes,” she said to the ceiling, as she sat on the bed and leaned back on her elbows.  “I have one and you don’t.  Just goes to show how meaningless they are.  Cheer up, Harry, you didn’t really have a chance.  Didn’t you know that the badge always goes to the redhead.  It’s the unwritten rule.”

 

Harry’s eyebrows raised.  “So why didn’t Fred and George get one?”

 

She shrugged.  “They must have split the vote.”

 

He chuckled, without much mirth, and sat next to her.  “You earned this, Gin,” he told her quietly, handing her the badge.

 

She didn’t take the offering.  “Oh really, how’d I do that?” she challenged.

 

It was clear that Harry hadn’t been expecting that question.  He stumbled over his words, “With  … with your marks … and responsibility … and your character …”

 

Ginny laughed out loud, saying almost angrily, “What do you know about my marks, Harry?  Do you know if I’m responsible? Or what I do in school?  Do you know anything about me, apart from being the youngest Weasley?”

 

She didn’t know what had possessed her to say all that.  Attacking Harry wasn’t liable to get her anywhere but alone and isolated.  It was downright stupid is what it was.

 

Maybe she just needed him to prove her wrong, but as he sat, wide-eyed and slack jawed, she knew he wasn’t going to being able to do that.  Ginny needed to stop asking for things she couldn’t have and move on with her life.

 

“I might not know what your marks are, or … a whole lot about your life at Hogwarts,” Harry confessed warily.  “But I know about your character … and … and I know you deserve to be prefect.”

 

Well, at least he tried.  Ginny looked at him sideways.  “Is that the best you got, Potter?” she challenged for no good reason.  She was feeling brave and self-destructive today.

 

Harry’s jaw hardened and he turned and fixed her with a blazing emerald gaze.  Apparently, she had pushed him too far.  “I know what it is like to be in a shadow, for no one to _really_ see me.”

           

Ginny laughed without thinking.  “Please, you’re the prized Harry Potter.  Everyone in the wizarding world is clamoring to see you.”

 

“Yeah, but who _does_?” he bit out.  “Who sees beyond the fucking Boy Who Lived, beyond whatever warped picture _The Daily Prophet_ decides to paint this week.”

 

Ginny met his angry gaze, responding with equal heat, “ _We_ do Harry.  _I_ do.”  But she didn’t matter. Not like the rest of the world mattered.

 

“Do _you_ , Ginny?” he accused.  “Do you really see past the image?  Was it because of _me_ that you hid in your room for a month the first time I visited the Burrow?  Was it _Harry_ that had you uncharacteristically at a loss of words for _years_?  Because I really find that hard to believe, since you see, you _didn’t_ really know me.  You knew the legend.”

 

She shook her head, forcibly biting back tears.  It wasn’t true.  It was _not_ true.

 

“How could you possibly know me, Ginny?” he asked more quietly, sadly.  “How could I know you?  We barely spoke before this year.  I knew you as Ron’s quiet sister.  You knew me as the Boy Who Lived.  That was just how it was.”

 

Harry was right.  Ginny was just as guilty as the rest of them.  She had been obsessed with him for five years of her life … before she could even possibly have known him.  She was always so sure he was what she imagined him to be.  Where did the hero worship end and the real Harry begin?

 

Harry seemed fixated on the speck on the wall above Hermione’s bed.  “I had thought,” he continued softly, “we were getting to know each other.”

 

“We were,” she protested quickly.  “I … I want to.”  Frightened that she had ruined everything by letting her guard down and her feelings tumble out, she quickly reached out and laid a hand on his.

 

He smiled at her shyly and reached over to pin her prefect badge on her shirt.  Harry shined it with his shirtsleeve.  “Well, Prefect Weasley, why don’t you start by telling me your deepest, darkest dreams,” he said with a smile.

 

Ginny thought that perhaps that her heart had stopped.  Wasn’t that a bit intimate, asking her about her hopes and dreams already?  She had caused enough trouble with sharing her inner most self today.

 

Harry grinned at her expression.  “You know, last night’s dream.”

 

Oh, right, exactly.  She let out the breath that she had been holding.  She scooted back on the bed until her back hit the wall.

 

 “Right, so this dream I had…I was in this castle, like hundreds of years ago or something.  I was ….”  Stalling is what she was.  Ginny had no idea why she was suddenly embarrassed.  She had a flash to the morning’s conversation about soul mates.  “I was getting married…”  She sounded a bit too prim when she said that.  “I had a sister, who was kind of … mean.  She kept talking about how I was _old_ I was for getting married, though I think I was only fifteen.”

 

Ginny looked to Harry, to gauge his reaction.  He was listening intently, not giving much away.  She continued, “The odd thing of it was that I was sharing someone’s body, I was …” she struggled for the words.

 

“Just along for the ride,” Harry offered.

 

Ginny nodded, a little disconcerted that he understood so perfectly.

 

“Go on,” he prompted.

 

She swallowed.  “Then I got married.”  Ginny wasn’t sure what kind of detail she wanted to go into.  Why did she feel like she was baring her soul here?  It was just a dream.  “It was strange.  I was under the impression that it was an arranged marriage.  I … she was dreading it.  Then she saw her groom and it felt like…like she was in love with him or something?”

 

It had felt like more than that, it had been…really intense.  She had felt awash with love and hunger and desire.  She had felt tingly and excited and more happy than Ginny had ever felt in her life.

 

And there had been something so familiar about the man she was marrying…like he knew her soul.

 

“Helena and Alexander.”  Harry’s words snapped her out of her reverie; she looked over at him with astonishment.  “Their names…Helena and Alexander, right?”

 

She nodded slowly, at a loss for words.

 

Harry’s Adam’s apple dipped and bobbed.  “I had the same dream … well not the _same_ dream.  I mean I was Alex ... Alexi in mine.”

 

Oh God, no wonder he seemed familiar.  It had been Harry.  Heavens above, she’d kissed Harry.  No wonder it had felt so intense, so blissful, so real … why had it felt so real?  It had been a dream after all.  Why was she getting so excited?  It wasn’t the first time she had kissed Harry in her dreams.

 

Ginny could no longer hold his intense green gaze and she wrenched her eyes away, looking down.  “Do you think it was the watch?”

 

“What else?” he responded.

 

What else, indeed?  “Do you think it’s dangerous?”  She held her breath as she waited for the answer.  She didn’t know why it meant so much to her.

 

“Not really.  Do you?”

 

She could feel his eyes on her face, but still she couldn’t take hers off the carpet.  “I dunno.”  The diary hadn’t seemed dangerous at first.  Damn it, she was not going to think about that.  This had nothing to do with…

 

“I don’t think it has anything to do with Voldemort,” Harry said intently.

 

She looked at him suddenly, her heart beating rapidly as he finished her thought.  “How can you be sure?” she asked, though she wanted to drop it.  Drop the questioning and just accept his answer.

 

“I can’t, but we found it buried in baby clothes, at the bottom of my parents’ trunk, sealed off in a room for sixteen years.  A bit imprecise for Voldemort, don’t you think?  And inefficient?”  


“Yes, but the room is in a house of Voldemort supporters.”

 

He fixed her with that intense gaze of his again. Ginny wondered if he were using some sort of magic on her; she felt like she’d do anything for him.

 

“I think it’s memories,” he told her passionately.  “I think it belonged to my ancestors.”

 

“In 1507?”

 

He nodded and Ginny reached into her drawer to pull out the watch again.  “It’s closed, again,” she said absently.

 

It was peculiar the way she watched Harry reach for it from a distance.  He seemed to do it without thinking…and she couldn’t seem to find her voice to stop him. 

 

It happened just like the last time. He touched the watch, the watch touched her skin, and it held them like that…trapped together.  When the pleasure started again, she realized that she must have forgotten the strength of it, or maybe it was just more so than last time.

 

She was gasping when she was finally able to pull her eyes to his.  She realized that it was over and Harry’s hand was still atop hers.

 

“Sorry,” he whispered.

 

“S’okay,” she responded, not knowing what she was offering absolution for.

 

“Do you want to tell?” he asked. 

 

A flash of Weasley possessiveness filled Ginny at the question.  This was hers.  Hers and Harry’s.  No one else _got_ this.

 

“Do you?” she asked softly.

 

Harry shrugged.  “I kinda like having something that’s just yours and mine.  Everyone else has their secrets, why can’t we?”

 

She looked down at the watch.  “July 21, 1507,” she read.  “One month later.  Reckon we’ll have a new memory tonight?”

 

Harry smiled shyly.  “You okay with this, Gin?”

 

She smiled back.  “You promised to take me all over the world.  I suppose taking me through time will have to do for now.”

 

“All in good time, Miss Weasley, all in good time.”

 

 

 

* * * * *

 

           

 

Ron was irritable and for the life of him he couldn’t figure out why.  It had snuck up on him, it had.

 

Dinner was fine, well, at first.  His mother made all his favorite foods and lavished him with attention.  No one acted as though Harry or Hermione had achieved more than him, even though they had.  Ron allowed himself to pretend all the wonderful things that Hermione had said about him were true and he was feeling pretty good.

 

Ron was becoming quite an expert at pretending.  Like how he had started to pretend that Hermione was actually his and that the game they were playing wasn’t going to come to a horrible end.  But he wasn’t going to think about that.  _He was not going to think about that._

Ron had let himself feel happy and confident, surrounded by his friends and family.  How had he descended into the surly, cranky monster that was now glowering from his seat in the drawing room?

 

At first it had just been a restlessness.  The need to move, that made him disappointed when Adrianna had said that they should rest and not train this evening.  Rest?  The last thing he wanted was rest.  His insides seemed to become more energized by the moment.

 

He had considered asking Adrianna to show him something … anything to release some of the energy, but she retired to her room at an absurdly early hour.  He wished his parents and Remus would have done the same, then he could … no, that would be even worse.  If he had Hermione alone on his bed right now, he’d … he’d probably throw her down and ravish her like a complete animal.

 

“Ron, are you sure you don’t want to play chess?” Ginny asked for the hundredth time from her place on the floor of the drawing room, where she lie, trying unsuccessfully to read.

 

“I said no!” Ron snapped, sliding further back into the sofa and gritting his teeth for no good reason.

 

“But you always want to play and you’re not _doing_ anything.  If I were Harry …”

 

“Shut it, Ginny, just don’t want to.”  He knew he was being mean, but she deserved it.  Couldn’t she see that he was _not_ in the mood?  What did it take to get rid of her?

 

“Ginny, why don’t you come help me?”  Harry called from the other side of the room where he sat playing chess with Charlie.  “Your brother is soundly trouncing me.”

 

Ron stopped paying attention as Harry wheedled his sister over.  He did catch the glares that he received from both of them.  He almost wished they would start something.  A nice row would really be the thing right now.

 

Too bad the only one that could give a decent row was Hermione and the last thing he wanted was her mad at him.  But still a row _would_ be nice … but not there, somewhere where they could be alone.  Then part way through she would just attack him and kiss him or he’d grab her, he wasn’t picky really.  Then maybe he could tear off her clothes and really get his hands on those magnificent breasts …

 

And do things to her that went way beyond Practice … and friendship.  Shite, how could he get into bed with her tonight feeling this way?  What the hell was he supposed to do?

 

Ron caught Hermione watching him from the other corner of the sofa, as she always seemed to be doing at the most inopportune times.  She was curled up reading a book, looking innocent and studious … sexy.

 

She was looking at him with concern, but all he could do was scowl at her.  She reached out to touch him and he flinched.

 

Before he knew what he was doing, stupid fool that he was, he flinched and caused the most horrific look to come over Hermione’s face.  She covered it quickly and went back to reading, or rather _staring_ at her book. 

 

It was just like the last week at Hogwarts all over again.  He had done some asinine things then, all because she affected him _too_ much and he had left her feeling rejected.

 

Didn’t she know by now that he’d _never_ reject her?

           

Ron forced himself to slide over and sit next to her, so that their legs were touching.  Just that touch made _that_ treacherous part of him twitch, but he bit it down. 

           

Hermione had stiffened and wasn’t looking at him.  He glanced nervously at the others.  Harry and Charlie were engrossed in their chess match, but Ginny was clearly watching out of the corner of her eye. Oh, the hell with her.  She already knew anyway.

 

Ron picked up Hermione’s hand where it lay on her book and entwined their fingers.  The energy gained from the contact caused his leg to bounce restlessly.  She raised her eyes and looked at him cautiously, her hand limp in his. 

 

He squeezed it.  “I’m sorry, ‘Mione,” he whispered.  “I’m just so … I have all this energy and I don’t know what to do about it?”

 

Hermione looked at him for a long time before saying, “Why don’t you take a shower or something, try to relax?”

 

A shower … it just occurred to him then that the vigorous snogging session from this afternoon was the first time he didn’t get the opportunity to … relieve the tension afterwards.  No wonder he was so tense.

 

He nodded.  “Yeah, that’s a good idea.”  God, she was brilliant.  She smiled back and removed her hand from his, going back to flip through the pages of her book.

 

Ron left the room with a new purpose.  Yes, a _shower_ was just the thing to get rid of this energy and be able to think again.  More importantly, to be able to act like a human being around Hermione again.

 

He walked directly to the third floor bath, locking the door and carelessly tossing his wand on the vanity.  He turned the tap on ‘hot,’ as hot as he could stand.  No cold shower for him.  He wanted to relieve the tension, not suppress it. 

 

The small room quickly filled with steam.  Carelessly, he pulled off his t-shirt; already the heat was relaxing his muscles.  Anticipation filled him and he hurriedly pulled open the buttons to his jeans.  They fell in a heap on the floor, boxers and socks followed.

 

Ron climbed into the shower and let the hot water rush over his face.  The tension eased.  His palms flattened against the cool tile in front of him and he allowed his shoulders and face to drop forward, the water washing his hair into his face and the pounding on his shoulders soothing away the knots.

 

The need to rush left him and suddenly all he wanted to do was to enjoy this.  No worries of Hermione coming back into the room, or dormmates walking into the shower, or his mother knocking at the door.  He could take his time and enjoy what Hermione made him feel.

 

Ron grabbed the bar of soap and began lathering up as he slowly ran through the events of their afternoon encounter.  He saw her splayed out, with her hair wild and her lips swollen, her warm eyes half mast, the words, ‘you’re _my_ hero,’ on her soft lips.

 

Hermione was breathing so quickly that her breasts moved enticingly.  The feel of them … soft … firm … all at once.  Perfect spheres in his hands.  He had just been able to feel the shape of her nipple through her clothing … she had arched her back and whimpered under his touch.

 

He was fully hard now, but he didn’t want to rush.  He continued the slow lathering of his torso.

 

What would it have been like without the shirt?   Ron imagined her coming into the bathroom.  He would watch her silhouette as she shed her clothes, see the dark outline of her nipple before she opened the curtain and stepped between him and the shower head.

 

Then he would finally see those perfect globes, glistening as the water ran over them.  Her soft hands would reach out and run over his wet chest.

 

His soapy hand followed the path he wanted his fantasy girl to follow.  Down his stomach, past his hip, finally touching himself where she had touched him this afternoon.  Only this time his fantasy beauty wrapped her hand around him and allowed Ron to show her the way he _really_ wanted her to touch him.  Then she’d catch the rhythm on her own and his hand would fall away to run over the wet curve of her hips, the dip of her waist, and finally cup her amazing breasts.

 

Ron leaned heavily on the one arm that was supporting him against the tile.  He forced his soapy grip to proceed slowly.

 

Dream Hermione arched into his touch and called out his name as he kneaded her breasts.  She wrapped one hand around his neck, while the other pumped his erection.  She wrapped a calf around his thigh and pressed her full length against him.

 

God!  God, if she did that he’d be able to feel her wet naked belly pressed against his erection, maybe the curls of …

 

His control slipped and he pulled harder and faster, only able to focus on her image as the blinding pleasure came over him and he splattered himself all over the bath wall.

 

Ron staggered back and leaned against the tile, feeling like his very bones had dissolved.  That was by far the best orgasm he had _ever_ had.  He smiled to himself, _Hermione_.  He wished he could thank her.

 

Feeling drowsy, he cleaned off the tile and shut off the water.  He didn’t realize that he had forgotten both his pajamas and a towel.         He pulled on just his jeans, only bothering to button the first two buttons.  He shoved his wand, boxers and socks into his pocket, where they half spilled out in a lazy fashion.  Ron used his t-shirt as a towel to dry his hair as he walked down the hall and into his room.

 

Ron was too relaxed to think much of it when he found Hermione sitting on his bed in her pajamas.  Her jaw fell open at the sight of him.  She blushed a becoming pink along the edge of her cheek bones.  “Oh, Ron … Sorry, I … all the adults went to bed, so I …”  The words spilled out of her, her eyes glued to his chest.

 

Ron felt arousal build again.  It took him a moment to realize that she was uncomfortable.  “No, it’s fine I just forgot to get something to wear before I …”  He quickly strode to the chest of drawers to grab a pair of pajamas.

 

“I’ll just go to the loo then and let you change.” By the time he had straightened up, she was gone. 

 

 Ron changed quickly, so she wouldn’t be embarrassed when she came back.  He threw himself face down on the bed, telling himself he needed to stay awake and make sure she was all right.

 

That was his last thought before drifting off.

 

 

 

* * * * *

 

             

 

Hermione had given up the pretense of turning the pages of the Empath Diary that lie on her lap after Ron had left the drawing room.  Harry, Ginny and Charlie seemed too absorbed in their game to notice she was distracted, too distracted to read the book she had been clamoring for months to read.

 

There was something wrong with Ron, Hermione just knew it.  She had watched him slowly become agitated throughout dinner.  By the time they reached the drawing room he was downright surly.  Snapping at his sister for no good reason, refusing to play chess, slouching in the chair and throwing eye daggers at anyone or anything that caught his gaze.  Not to mention flinching at her touch … flinching at her touch.

 

There were only two explanations that made any sense to Hermione and both revolved around this afternoon’s … _activities_.  He was either shocked and disgusted at how bold she had been asking to touch him, or … completely turned off by her childlike ineptitude and naiveté, not to mention appalled by her little girl’s body and lack of curves.  Maybe that was three things.  Yes, definitely three things.

 

But he’d been so sweet when he’d taken her hand and tried to reassure her.  After he left to shower she’d tried to convince herself that she was letting her insecurities get the better of her.  As soon as Charlie, the last of the adults, went to bed she would go to Ron’s room and he’d pull her into his arms and kiss her, and she’d know that he still wanted her as much as he always had.

 

Maybe the restlessness that he had been complaining about wasn’t because he needed to get away from her.  Maybe this afternoon’s Practice had just left him with a kind of energy and need that hummed through his body … just like it was doing to hers.

 

Hermione didn’t know what it was.  She didn’t know what she was supposed to do about it or if it was even normal.  She wasn’t even sure that she liked it.  But her body seemed to know that it needed.  Only Ron could make the throbbing stop.  She was too scared to consider how he could do that. 

 

Flipping through the pages she realized that the Empath research, while interesting, had lost the life and death edge that drove her in the beginning.  It was hard to believe that the person teaching you how to defend yourself was trying to kill you.

 

The chess match ended, Charlie having won.  It was difficult to beat a Weasley at chess.  Ginny demanded she get to play the winner but Charlie begged off and said good night.

 

Hermione feigned disinterest as she called out, “Good night.”  Inside she was calculating how long it would take him to safely shut his door, so she could sneak away to Ron’s room.

 

“Come on, Gin.  I’ll play you,” Harry was saying.

 

“What’s the fun in that?  You’re hardly a challenge, Potter.  You can’t even get the pieces to follow your directions.”

 

“Fine then, Hermione you want to play?”

 

It took her a few minutes to register the question Harry had asked of her.  “What? Oh, oh, no I’m fine.”

 

Ginny and Harry stared at her.  “All right there, Hermione?” Harry asked.  “You seem a bit … scattered.”

 

Hermione flushed for no good reason.  “No, I’m just tired.  I think I’ll head to bed.”  She gathered her things and began to go across the hall and change.

 

She heard Harry call out from behind her.  “Have a good night and don’t forget about the Imperturbable.”

 

Her face became hotter, but she didn’t grace that comment with a reply.  What could she say anyway?  She was hoping for exactly what Harry implied they’d be doing behind the closed curtains of Ron’s bed.  She wondered if her sleeping there had anything to do with his nightmares anymore.

 

After changing she headed up to Ron’s room fully expecting him to be there when she arrived.  Hermione was filled with nervous anticipation at their being alone again.  The disappointment when he wasn’t there was irrationally intense.  What could he be doing in the shower for so long anyway?  He _was_ a boy.  _He_ didn’t have ten tons of hair to deal with.

 

The longer she was in the room, the more nervous she became.  She wished she had brought a book, though at this point it wouldn’t have done her a bit of good.  She paced and wrung her hands.

 

Hermione had just forced herself to sit on their…his bed, when he came to the door.  Oh, my … heavens …

 

Hermione was staring at a naked male chest … no.  Ron’s naked, wet chest.  She never knew it could look like that, not in real life anyway.  Were sixteen year olds supposed to have that much muscle?  Oh God, his pants weren’t buttoned, she could see the line of his hips where they met his abdomen and just a bit of hair …

 

She was going to hyperventilate.  She was going to faint.  Why had her intellect abandoned her?  Where was her trademark composure when she needed it?  Oh my, oh my, oh my …

 

She realized that she was doing nothing but staring, acting like some besotted idiot.  Somehow, Hermione found her voice.  “Oh, Ron … Sorry, I … all the adults went to bed, so I …” 

 

Ron answered her far too casually. “No, it’s fine I just forgot to get something to wear before I …”  Clearly he wasn’t nearly as affected by this as she was … but then again _she_ wasn’t standing their half starkers, was she?

 

She needed to get out of there.  “I’ll just go to the loo then and let you change.”

 

Hermione couldn’t get out of the room fast enough.  She rushed down to the bath and closed the door.  The mirror was still steamed from Ron’s shower.  Oh God, he had been naked in here jut a few minutes ago.

 

She was imagining him naked.  Do good girls imagine boys naked?  Hermione had certainly never done it before.  She had also never _touched_ a penis before … and she was certain that good girls did _not_ do that.  She was turning into a scarlet woman, completely driven by hormones … and she couldn’t stop.

 

She paced the small room restlessly, turning so often that she was getting dizzy.  What was happening to her?  What was this ache that kept getting stronger every day?  She needed to do something or she really would go mad.

 

Hermione was just going to have to talk to Ron.  They were going to have to sit down and have a rational discussion about _what the hell was going on here._   She would just march back into the room and ask him what he was feeling and tell him what she was feeling and see if they could make sense of it all.

 

She splashed some cold water on her face.  All right, she was going to do this. Hermione took deep calming breaths all the way back to the bedroom.  She steeled herself and placed her most composed look on her face before opening the door.

 

“Ron … Ron?”

 

She found him face down on the bed, snoring softly.  Hermione could have cried.

 

So much for her theory that he was filled with restless sexual energy for her.  Oh, and what about the whole ‘I can’t sleep without you, Hermione,’ rubbish?  Why was this happening to her?

 

Hermione threw herself down onto the bed beside him and contemplated the ceiling and her misery.  When she heard Harry climbing up the stairs she quickly closed the curtains.

 

She did _not_ want to explain to him why they were not snogging each other’s faces off. 

 

 

 

 

* * * * *


	23. Tension

Ginny was in a carriage, snuggled into a warm body, with a heavy masculine arm around her shoulders.  The sway and movement of the carriage felt peculiar.  She glanced out the window.  Oh, they were flying.  That explained it.

 

The arm around her pulled her closer and she felt warm; warm and loved … but there was a tension that radiated from the man who held her close.  Helana looked up into the uneasy eyes of her husband.

 

  1.   Harry’s in there.  Ginny wanted to call out to him, to somehow communicate, but as hard as she willed it she could not make Helana speak or move.  Ginny was trapped inside of her.



 

Finally she spoke.  “You’re worried,” she stated and Ginny was disappointed that they weren’t the words she wanted … the word actually.  She continued to scream, ‘Harry’ in her head.

 

Alexi shook his head.  “I’m just disappointed.  I wanted more time alone with you.”  He gave her a look that caused her to feel warm and tingly … oh God, Harry’s in there.

 

“Yes, but you’re worried,” Helana corrected and Alex smiled in a tender guilty way.  “Why?” she asked.

 

He swallowed, his eyes fixated out of the window.  “I don’t like your sister.  I don’t want you around her.”

 

Helana looked away from him.  Ginny felt that Helana didn’t like her either … she was afraid of her.  “She’s family, Alex,” she said softly.

 

“Her husband’s death is suspicious.”

 

“He wasn’t a nice person.”

 

“Neither is your sister.”

 

Helana looked at him, her fear intensifying.  “Are you saying that you think Hilda is _responsible_ for his death?”

 

He couldn’t meet her eyes.  “I’m saying I don’t like you around her and …”  He smiled down at her sweetly in what was an obvious attempt to change the subject.  “…I  would prefer to spend the time alone with _you_.”

 

He leaned toward her and Ginny felt a rush of panic and excitement.  Harry was going to kiss her.  Harry was going to kiss her.

 

But it wasn’t Harry she reminded herself, mustn’t think that it was…

 

Then Helana’s eyes fluttered shut and Alex’s large hand cupped her head.  When his lips slide across hers, it _felt_ like Harry.  Felt like Harry’s tongue stroking her lips and begging entrance, making her feel warm and alive, loved and cherished.

 

He pulled away without deepening the kiss further.  Helana whimpered and opened her eyes.

 

It wasn’t Harry

 

Ginny felt cheated.  Cheated out of a first kiss with Harry that may or may not have ever happen.  Out of a kiss where she knew her emotions were hers and the man kissing her _wanted_ to kiss _her_.  Ginny wanted to go away and hide; to feel miserable, but this woman’s annoyingly pleasant feelings kept getting in the way.

 

Alex was coming in for another kiss and Ginny didn’t want it, but Helana did and she parted her lips eagerly.

 

If Ginny was feeling forced, how must it feel for Harry?  He didn’t even want to kiss her.  It must feel like rape to him.

 

Ginny held onto that horrible thought for as long as she could, trying as hard as she could to separate herself from Helana, but the love and desire the woman was feeling were overwhelming.  It didn’t help that Ginny _did_ want to be kissing Harry.

 

His tongue was stroking hers and Helana was responding in a passionate way, tangling their tongues together.  This body _knew_ this man, _knew_ what to do.  She must have had a hell of a lot of practice in the last month.

 

Alex’s hands were wandering, making Ginny desperate for him to both stop and keep going.  She was relieved beyond measure when the carriage jerked and Alex pulled away with a sigh.  Ginny searched desperately for Harry in his eyes and thought she saw him somewhere in there. 

 

He rested his forehead against hers, asking, “Are you sure about this?”

 

Helana wasn’t sure, Ginny could tell.  Actually, Helana wasn’t sure of anything.  She was teaming with different emotions.  It was difficult to sort out and bloody annoying, actually.

 

Alex helped her out and Ginny noted that it had been a pair of jet black Hippogriffs pulling the carriage.  She didn’t have time to ponder this as they walked resolutely toward the castle, her hand in the crook of her husband’s arm.

 

As they approached, Ginny felt waves of emotion overcome her… grief… anger…hatred.  The closer she came to the castle the more intense it became.  Ginny didn’t understand why she was feeling this way, but it was choking her.

 

When she stepped through the front gates, a particularly harsh wave hit her and she stumbled.  Harry…Alexi was there with an arm around her waist to keep her upright.  He looked at her with concern and a new wave of fear hit her, but this time she also felt love.

 

“I’m fine,” Helana reassured with a smile.

 

Fine?  Fine!  They were not fine.  For whatever reason they were drowning in despair and terror…and it made no sense.

 

A house elf came up to them and Alex chose to direct his frustration at the poor creature.  “Take us to her father.  Now!” he snapped.

 

Ginny barely noticed where they were going as Alex dragged her beside him. The elf led them through the castle.  Helana was concentrating on her breathing, which Ginny found helpful.

 

At the top of a winding staircase was a door where the elf stopped and bowed before opening it. Before the door opened, Ginny could hear screaming.  “How dare you, Stephan!”  Helana recognized her sister’s screech.

 

“How dare I?  I beg you Hilda; give me one reason to believe it was _not_ my sister who caused the death of my best friend.”

 

“He was my husband,” she hissed and Stephan scoffed.

 

Alexi led Helana into the room, holding her firmly.  She recognized her father who was smiling at her sadly.  She felt confusion, concern, and despair.  She looked upon the man…her brother and was over come with grief and rage.  She tore her eyes away to look at her sister and felt…anger and cold determination.

 

Helana gasped as the absolute knowledge that her sister had poisoned her husband came over her.  Her knees gave way.  The room began to spin.  Her vision disintegrated into a million dots and gave way to gray.

 

As the world faded into blackness, Ginny thought she heard Harry calling her name.

 

 

 

* * * * *

           

 

 

Harry felt Ginny collapse in his arms with rising panic.  He knew it was just Helana, but somehow it felt like Ginny.  Something really bad was happening.  Really, really bad.  Harry tried to call out to her as Alexi lifted her against him, murmuring, “Helena?”

 

No…no…Is Ginny ok?

 

This was all Harry’s fault.  Why had he shown her the watch?  Why had he let it seduce him?  Why had he needed to keep it a secret?  Because he was a selfish git, that’s why.

 

‘Ginny!’ he tried to call.  Enough, he had to wake up.  Wake up!  He tried to force his eyes open with all his might. Wake up! _Wake up!_

His eyes snapped open and he saw the curtains of his bed.  He heard Hermione let out a soft moan from the bed next to him.  Were they _ever_ going to remember the Imperturbable?

 

It didn’t matter.  Harry scrambled out of bed and quickly made his way to Ginny’s room.  If something happened to her, he’d never forgive himself.  If he hadn’t been so curious, if he hadn’t wanted to feel that sensation again, if he hadn’t been so weak…

 

Harry entered the room without knocking.  He let out a sigh of relief when he saw Ginny sitting up. She was hugging her knees to her chest. When she turned he saw that tears drenched her face.

 

His guilt was a fiery pit in his stomach.  He approached her, instinctively sitting beside her and wrapping his arms around her.  She leaned into him, sniffling, but didn’t loosen her grip on her knees.

 

“It was awful, Harry.”

 

He swallowed.  He was such a piece of shite.  Harry stroked her long, smooth hair without thinking.  “Are you all right?  When you went down I… you scared me.”

 

“I’m fine, I think.  I dunno.”

 

He felt her tears against his chest and rocked her.  It just felt like the right thing to do.

 

“I think she killed him, Harry.  I mean I’m sure she did,” Ginny whispered into his shirt.

 

It took him a moment to comprehend.  “Hilda and her husband?  How do you know?”  Harry wasn’t sure why he was asking.  He should just bury the damn watch and be done with it.

 

Ginny pulled her head away and looked up at him.  She looked so young and innocent in that moment, fragile.  “Harry, I _felt_ it.”

 

He shook his head, wanting to understand, but not…

 

“When I looked at Hilda I felt this anger and…and ice and darkness, then I just _knew_ she killed him.  She felt _evil_ , Harry.”

 

Harry took a sharp breath and blew it out slowly.  “And you _felt_ this?”

 

“I felt a lot of things that it didn’t make sense for Helena to feel….despair, fear, rage.  It was overwhelming in that castle.”

 

“Did it feel like it was coming from other people?”

 

She shook her head.  “I dunno…it felt…”  Ginny searched his face.  “Do you think Helana’s an Empath?”

 

He couldn’t look at her anymore.  It hurt him.  “Must be…fuck, I should have told Adrianna.  I’m so stupid.”

 

Ginny pulled out of his grasp.  “ _We_ agreed not to tell her.  If you’re stupid, then so am I.”

 

Harry shook his head.  “I was selfish….I wanted something that was just ours…that no one could touch and it hurt you…you almost….”

 

“I didn’t almost anything,” she snapped, wiping her cheeks roughly and sitting up straight.  “It was a dream…I’m fine.  I was just…still reacting to the other people’s emotions.  I’m fine now.”

 

Harry knew what Ginny was doing.  She was trying to convince him that she was strong.  Make him believe that it wasn’t his fault, but it _was_.  “You could have been hurt.  I knew better, after Riddle’s Diary…”

 

He cut off at Ginny’s sharp intake of breath.  “This is _nothing_ like the diary, Harry,” she snapped, red faced, and looked away.  But the lady had protested a tad too hastily.  “It was _my_ decision.  I get to decide what I do, not you.”

 

He watched her for a moment.  “Well, given the new information, _I_ think we should tell Adrianna.  What do _you_ think?”

 

Ginny looked away from him.  “I agree.  We’ll tell her tomorrow.  But this is because she’s an Empath and it might have something to do with her…not because I think we should stop.”

 

Harry’s jaw dropped.  She wanted to keep doing it.  For some reason the knowledge filled him with elation.  He didn’t really want to stop, until the end the dream had been….pretty amazing.  He thought about what it had been like to kiss Ginny…Helena.  _Alexi kissed Helena_ , he reminded himself, but no matter who was doing it, it had felt incredible.

 

He had been so afraid that she would feel violated, disgusted even.  But if she wanted to do it again…. “Is that what you’d like, Ginny?  To do it again?”  Harry wished that he didn’t sound so vulnerable.

 

Ginny set her jaw.  “Do you?” she challenged.

 

Harry felt like it was a test.  He hadn’t studied.  “I don’t want you to get hurt, but yeah, I guess I do.”

 

“Then so do I,” she said in a firm way that made him chuckle.  Sometimes she was so like her mother.  He looked around the room, suddenly uneasy.

 

“So, then…do you mind if I sleep in Hermione’s bed for the rest of the night.  Ron and Hermione forgot the Imperturbable again.”  And the dreams might come back.  He wanted to be next to her if they did.

 

Ginny grimaced.  “Ick, what’s wrong with them?  Of course you can stay here.  Though I should warn you that the image that you just put into my head will most likely give me nightmares.”

 

Harry chuckled gratefully and looked at her through his lashes.  “Thanks, Gin.”

 

“Any time,” she said seriously.

 

Harry didn’t sleep that much that might.  Mostly he watched Ginny for signs of nightmares.

 

 

 

* * * * *

 

 

 

Hermione didn’t know how long she lay there, awake, next to a sexy…wet… snoring Ron.  It may have been hours.

 

It was a difficult paradox that she was trying to resolve.  The one where she had somehow managed to be both a pathetic, naive little girl, complete with childlike body and a rampaging whore at the same time.  Not an easy feat.  Kudos to her.

 

But however she had managed it, it had been just the trick to send Ron into the complete coma he was currently in.  He lay there, relaxed and peaceful, while her body practically twitched with energy.  She was stiff from the restraint it took to not touch him.

 

How had she gotten here?  Deliriously happy this afternoon, wallowing in self pity now.  Lying in bed with the boy she was in love with.  The boy who thought they were just Practicing.  Practicing for what?  Who was she anymore?

 

And the worst part….she wouldn’t even care if only he’d wake up and touch her.

 

Hermione suddenly had to get out of that room.  She scrambled to pull the curtains back and slip off into the dark.  Just as her feet hit the ground she felt a hand close over her arm.

 

“Where ya goin’, ‘Mione?” Ron asked, his voice heavy from sleep.

 

She was caught! She panicked.  Just tell him she was going to the loo…tell him… “I couldn’t sleep.”

 

There was an insistent tug on her arm.  “I’ll keep you company.  Come back to bed.”  His voice was warm and thick, sending shivers down her spine.

 

Hermione let herself be pulled back to bed, knowing that she was weak and lacked self-respect.  She just needed to be with him.  She was unable to resist him as he pulled her into his warm embrace and stretched like a cat against her.

 

The throbbing, the energy, it was confusing her again.  Hermione didn’t know….oh, hell with it.  She grabbed his head and yanked it down to hers.  She kissed him with all the energy building up inside of her, all the frustration, and all the anger at him for not feeling the same.

 

Ron was slack with surprise and she took advantage, thrusting her tongue into his mouth and clawing at his shoulders.  Hermione pushed him onto his back with a surge of strength; he went easily.  She climbed above him and attacked him more vigorously.  She slipped her hands over his chest and down to his waist.  They moved under his shirt, having a desperate need to touch the skin that she had seen earlier that night.

 

The feel of it was more than she expected and he moaned against her mouth.  She dug her nails into his flesh to punish him for making her act this way, making her _feel_ like this.  Ron allowed her to take her frustrations out on him, giving her the upper hand.  His arms were only lightly resting on her back; he kissed her, but he stayed passive.

 

Hermione knew the exact moment when dominance slipped away from her.   There was a violent surge through Ron’s body as he suddenly engaged in the battle.  His whole body seemed to wrap itself around hers and pull her painfully closer.  His tongue and teeth fought hers.  She dug her nails in as deep as they could go.

 

Ron growled, flipping her easily onto her back and pinning her beneath him.  Grabbing her hands he yanked them over her head, trapping them there. Hermione bucked underneath him, twisting and turning to regain the upper hand, but all she succeeded in doing was increase the heat and throbbing in her body.  She bit his lip in frustration.

 

He pulled away and stared at her with wide, wild eyes, his breaths rapid.  “What the hell has gotten into you tonight, ‘Mione?”

 

She seemed to have lost the power of speech because all she could do was growl and try to pull her arms free.  He yanked them more firmly above her head and held them easily with one hand.  The other ran back down her arm and shoulder, over her chin and cupped her cheek.  Her eyes had long since rolled back into her head from the pleasure of it.  She leaned into his hand, then angry at the weakness it wrought in her, she nipped at it.

 

He was half laying across her, one leg pinning hers.  “Tell me what you want?” he breathed in her ear.  “Do you want me to let you go?”

 

God, help her, she didn’t.  But she couldn’t tell him that.  Hermione squeezed her eyes and lips shut, feeling completely exposed.

 

“Do you want me to touch you?” Ron asked.

 

God yes.  “Please.”  Once she started moaning it she couldn’t seem to stop.  It came out as a litany.  “Please, please, please…”

 

His hand touched her neck, stroking her.  “I don’t know what you want.  Tell me.”

 

There was a desperate, pleading quality to his voice that seemed to pull the words from her.  “Touch me,” she said in a small, sobbing voice.  “Like you did this afternoon.”  She was a slag, but it didn’t matter.  She was his.

 

Ron’s breath hitched, but his hand moved, leaving a path of bliss across her throat and chest to cup her breast.  “Like this?”  His voice had lost all teasing.  His question was unsure.

 

His touch wasn’t enough.  “Under, please, Ron, please.”  She couldn’t bear look him in the eyes, so she concentrated on the sound of his breath speeding up.  Concentrated on the feel of it as it puffed against her ear and cheek…and on his hand as it tentatively crept under her pajama shirt and traveled up.

 

He was going so _damned_ slowly.  Ron froze completely when he reached the under edge of her breast.  She snarled with frustration.  Wasn’t begging enough?  “Ron, please!”

 

Ron cupped her and she thought she’d die of the pleasure.  He squeezed and she arched off the bed into him.

 

His other hand left her wrists, but she kept them there as if she was still restrained.  She felt the air on her chest as he fully exposed her and heard his quick intake of breath.  She squeezed her lids more tightly together so as to not see his disappointment.

 

Both hands were cupping her now, kneading her.  One thumb brushed a nipple and she lurched violently, a streak of electric fire running straight to her pelvis.  “Ron!” she screamed.

 

He paused, and then both thumbs flicked across her nipples.  It was too much.  She listed back and forth.  “Ron, please, please.”

 

“Like this?’ he asked as he caressed her peaks.  She nodded vigorously, desperate for him to not stop.  Liquid warmth was flooding her lower body.  A thumb and forefinger closed around one tip and rolled it back and forth.

 

Her hips jerked violently.  It was too intense; she couldn’t stand it any more.  Hermione pulled his hand away.  She looked up into his heated gaze and found she was drowning.

 

“Ron, what’s happening to me?” she sobbed out, clutching his shoulders.  She buried her head in his chest and soaked it with frustrated tears.

 

He laid her back, stiffly, but carefully.  “Shhh, it’s ok, it’s ok,” he told her in a frightened sort of voice, as he held her to him and stroked her back.

 

“Something’s wrong with me,” she told him and felt him shake his head against her.

 

“Nothing’s wrong with you.  Nothing at all.  You’re perfect.  My ‘Mione, shh.”  He kept the litany going and lulled her into a troubled sleep.

 

 

 

 

* * * * *

 

 

 

 

Breakfast the next morning was a tense affair.  Well, more tense than usual. Mrs. Weasley was in quite a tither, as she bustled about getting ready to leave on holiday and drilling poor Bill on his skills as a chaperone.  It seemed this morning she found him perhaps the least responsible wizard on the planet.

 

As for Ginny, she was apprehensive and anxious.  She and Harry had agreed to tell Adrianna and Charlie about the watch directly after breakfast.  However, at the moment it didn’t feel like Ginny’s decision at all but instead a product of her caving in to Harry’s overprotective nonsense.

 

It was sure to be one of the least fun conversations of Ginny’s life.  She was sure to get, at the very least, a lecture about her stupidity and immaturity.  She had already decided to count how many times Riddle’s diary came up, just to see if it hit double digits.  She really should have put money on it with Harry.

 

At worst, they’d tell her parents and it would be used as evidence against making any of her own decisions until she was at least thirty-five.  At best, they’d just take the watch.

 

Maybe she could still talk Harry out of telling them.  The thought of never again feeling the sensation of when she and Harry touched the watch together made her mildly ill.  And how would they ever know what happened to Helena and her Alexi?  How would they ever know whatever it was that they wanted them to know?

 

Harry was completely overreacting.  It wasn’t dangerous at all.  It had just been a little intense, that’s all.  Ginny wasn’t use to feeling all those emotions, to being an Empath, but it couldn’t _hurt_ her.  Adrianna felt that way all the time and she was just fine.

 

Ginny’s eyes found Adrianna at the table.  Wow, she felt that way _all the time_.  How could she stand it?  How did she walk around every day and get things done and be calm and composed?

 

Come to think of it, at the moment, she didn’t look so calm and composed.  Actually, Adrianna’s careful demeanor had been slowly slipping over the last few days and this morning … well, if Ginny didn’t know better she’d say she was on the verge of an emotional breakdown.

 

Ginny’s mother was going through a litany of reasons that she shouldn’t entrust her ‘babies’ to Bill … and Adrianna’s name came up quite a lot. Every argument she was made ended with “and you never once mentioned Adrianna in all these years.”  For obvious reasons Charlie was getting his fair share of the scolding as well.

 

‘Drana was quiet, occasionally grimacing or frowning, rubbing her temples and poking at her food.

 

Mrs. Weasley was in the middle of her latest tirade.  “… and you never once told us Fleur was a Veela…or her age for that matter and you’ve been dating her for a year!  Though, I don’t suppose I should be surprised, given _your_ brother never once brought Adrianna home after seven years.”

 

Adrianna froze at the insinuation of the nature of her relationship with Charlie.  She closed her eyes as if she were in pain.  When she opened them she had the look of a woman who had been pushed too far.

 

“To be fair, Mrs. Weasley,” she said.  “That’s my fault.  Charlie invited me to England multiple times, I wouldn’t come.”

 

All conversation at the table stopped at the rare gift of information from the past.

 

Molly looked at Adrianna incredulously, “Well, why ever not?”

 

“Well, you see, I hate England,” she replied.

 

Charlie broke the stunned silence, trying to soften her words.  “’Drana doesn’t hate England … she has a sort of fear of it.  A phobia of sorts.”  He shot her a warning look.

 

Adrianna rolled her eyes.  “Tomato, tomahto, whatever.  I wouldn’t come.”

 

Ginny couldn’t help but ask the obvious question, “But why?”

 

The Empath stabbed her eggs rather violently.  “Well you see, the last time I was here my father was killed rather violently and I _felt_ the entire thing.  I had pretty much decided I was _never_ coming back.”

 

The next silence stretched even longer.

 

“But you did,” Harry whispered, his pallor ashen.

 

“Yes, well I didn’t have much choice now.  I had a vision.  Your safety was a bit more important than my ‘phobia.’” Adrianna’s eyes darted to Harry and back to her plate.  She seemed to have lost the ability to maintain eye contact.

 

“But Dumbledore…” Harry choked.  “The Pensive…”

 

Adrianna just shrugged in response.

 

“What about Dumbledore and the Pensieve?” Charlie asked insistently.

 

Her jaw hardened and she looked at him challengingly.  “The first day I arrived, Dumbledore took Harry and me into the Pensieve and showed us the day my father died.  How’s that for irony?”

 

Ginny heard Hermione take a sharp intake of breath and knew she was thinking the same thing.  So that’s what was behind Adrianna’s disrespect of the headmaster.

 

Charlie looked enraged.  “I can’t believe…why would he do such a thing?”

 

“It was for Harry, Charlie…It made sense if you were there.”  Her tone became soft.  “There were things that Harry had to understand.”

 

“By reliving the worst day of your life?”  Ginny was surprised to find that she had said the question out loud. 

 

Adrianna fixed her with piercing gray-blue eyes. “Second worst,” she stated matter-of-factly.  “It was the second worst day of my life.”  Adrianna tried to go back to eating, but didn’t seem to be able to make her hands work.  She set down her fork and hastily wiped her hands on a napkin.  “Excuse me,” she muttered and the astonished group watched her flee the room.

 

Ginny’s eyes fell on Charlie who looked stricken and pale.

 

“Charlie …” their mum began.

 

“Sorry,” he interrupted.  “I have some errands to run.”  _Crack_.  He Disapparated.

 

Ginny shared a long look with Harry. She reckoned she didn’t need to worry about telling Adrianna and Charlie about the watch after all.

 

 

 

* * * * *

 

 

           

It wasn’t until evening that Harry had a chance to get Ginny alone.  Their plan to talk to Adrianna and Charlie had kind of gone to shite after the breakfast catastrophe.  

 

Adrianna had emerged from training with bloodshot eyes and a distant expression.  She had a calm relentlessness about her teaching … and Harry thought he had never seen her having such a difficult time reading thoughts.  Charlie hadn’t shown himself until dinner, which Adrianna didn’t attend.  After the meal she had pulled them into yet another training session, until Charlie had finally come and physically hauled her away to “talk.”

 

When the bloody hell was the wanker going to go back to Romania, was what Harry wanted to know.  He had spied on his cousin’s closed and Imperturbable door from across the hall for over an hour.  He contemplated the guilt he felt for being the reason that Adrianna had relived her father’s death.  He raged at Dumbledore for being so thoughtless and at Charlie…for somehow being involved in the worst day of her life. 

 

Charlie shouldn’t be the one in there “talking” to Adrianna.  It should be Harry comforting her.  He wished she would confide in him.

 

When Charlie finally emerged, Harry found Adrianna calmly reading on her bed, insisting everything was “fine” and that she was just “tired.”

 

Disgusted, Harry had left to find Ginny and discuss their situation, as he was suddenly having real difficulties with the plan to tell Adrianna and Charlie anything.  Anyway, if she didn’t care enough to read his mind, than she didn’t deserve to know.  Yet … if keeping the secret hurt Ginny, he would never forgive himself.

 

He found Ginny in the drawing room with Hermione.  They were both reading.  Ginny was curled up in a soft arm chair and Hermione was on the sofa.  Harry stood in the doorway gesturing wildly, in an attempt to get Ginny’s attention without alerting his best friend.

 

When he finally caught her eye she gave him a look that suggested she believed he had gone quite mad, but she excused herself and slipped away in a skilled way that wouldn’t have made even old Mad-Eye suspicious.

 

When she neared him it was with a wickedly challenging smile that he found somewhat unsettling.  Harry grabbed her wrist and pulled her into her room, closing the door.  When he turned, she was wearing an expectant look cousin to the earlier one that made him blush for some reason and shift nervously on his feet.

 

He sat at the edge of her bed, suddenly having difficulty figuring out what he wanted to say.

 

“So?” she prompted, sitting next to him.

 

“So, I, er, I figured we’d better discuss things since our plan kind of fell apart.”  He glanced at her sideways and then down at the floor.

 

“The plan?” she asked in a teasing tone.  He couldn’t decide how much of it was play.

 

“Yeah, you know, to tell Adrianna and Charlie.”

 

“Oh,” she sounded a bit disappointed.  “Do you want to tell them now?”

 

Was she crazy?  He gave her an incredulous look.  “Do you value your limbs, because I have a feeling that putting them both in a room and telling them we’ve been lying and playing with old magic might not be so safe at the moment.”

 

Ginny bit her lip; “So, we wait?”  The intense look in her golden-brown eyes was making him uncomfortable. 

 

Harry shrugged, not able to maintain eye contact; as he leaned his elbows on his knees and tapped his hands together nervously.  Waiting wasn’t exactly what he had been thinking of.

 

“Harry?”  Ginny asked cautiously.  “Did you have something else in mind?”  He shrugged again.  “You do still want to tell?”

 

“I don’t want you to get hurt,” he stated softly.

 

She gave an annoyed grunt.  “I’m not as weak as you think I am, Harry.”

 

Her harsh angry tone pulled his eyes back to hers.  “I don’t,” he denied, blushing because it was true, because he couldn’t come up with any more convincing words.  He looked away.  “I just…lots of strong people have been hurt because of me before.”

 

“No one’s been hurt _because_ of you, Harry.  They made a _decision_.  A decision that was theirs to make and someone else _hurt_ them.  Someone evil. The world doesn’t revolve around you, you know?”  Her passionate speech ended and Ginny’s eyes widened as if she were surprised at herself.

 

Harry had to smile.  The world didn’t revolve around him; he should remember that.  He took a deep breath to give him the strength to once again meet her intense brown eyes.  “So what’s your decision, Ginevra Weasley?”

 

Her bravado had already left her and she was gnawing carefully on her bottom lip.  “About the watch?” she asked apprehensively.  At his sober nod, Ginny sat up straight and assumed a more resolute look.  It only wavered a bit when she said, “I want to keep doing it.  I want to have more dreams from the watch.” 

 

Every bit of air left Harry’s lungs.  He nodded.  “And not tell?”

 

“Well, I can’t imagine that they’ll let us keep it if we do.”

 

“No,” he said distractedly, carefully choosing his next words.  “I was thinking that maybe it would be ok if we tried it again, if … for both our safety … I stayed in Hermione’s bed … just in case something goes wrong.”  Harry didn’t dare look at her.

 

“Okay,” she said quickly.  Much more quickly than he had anticipated.

 

He looked at her swiftly.  “Okay?”

 

Ginny nodded.  She had a strange look on her face. It was a look that Harry couldn’t name, but she was smiling.

 

He smiled back, suddenly feeling awkward as if she had just agreed to go to Hogsmeade with him or something.  “Okay then, I’ll um …” he stood shuffling his feet.  “I’ll, um, be back after Ron and Hermione, you know, go to sleep and stuff.”

 

She nodded, with the same intense smile, and he tried not to run from the room.  There was a bounce in his step as he climbed the steps.

 

When he got to his room Ron was sitting on his bed.  Harry was surprised to also find Fred in the middle of the room with a large box at his feet.  “Hey,” he greeted him, confused.  Fred wasn’t supposed to be here for the party until tomorrow. 

 

“Hey mate, just dropping by to leave a little gift for Ronniekins.  See you blokes at the party.  Enjoy!”  He smiled wickedly at his brother and _Crack_ , he was gone.

 

“Uh huh,” Ron’s belated response followed after him as he stared wide-eyed at a magazine.

 

Harry took a closer look.  “Holy Shite, Ron!  Is that…?”

 

Ron nodded, absently, “ _Wicked, Wicked Witches_.”

 

Harry scrambled round to sit next to him.  “They’re all starkers?” he whispered, feeling clammy.

 

“Harry, they’re not _just_ starkers.”

 

Harry’s mouth dropped open at the sight of the lured, sexual, _moving_ pictures.  “Whoa!”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“What is that?”

 

Both boys’ eyes shot up guiltily, to find Hermione standing in the doorway with her arms crossed.

 

Her expression said she knew _exactly_ what that was.

 

 

 

 

* * * * *

           

 

           

 

 


	24. Breaking Through

Ron lay flat on his back on his bed, his arms crossed behind his head.   _The Great Empath Massacre_ lay open and unread across his chest as he contemplated exactly when Hermione had gone completely around the bend.

 

She had been perfectly normal yesterday during training, and then with the arrivals of the OWLs, she had been downright giddy.  After that…with the Practicing, she had been bloody fantastic.  Well, he thought so, and she certainly _seemed_ to be enjoying herself.  

 

She _had_ seemed a little put off when she first noticed his erection, but she had certainly recovered quickly…and enthusiastically, Ron thought, grinning to himself.  Hermione had been a little quiet at dinner, but she was always shy and a bit distracted after Practicing, so he hadn’t been bothered by her silences.  He found it rather endearing, actually.

 

Maybe the problem started when he had flinched from her touch.  He knew that was a big mistake, because last night…last night she had gone completely nutters.

 

At first, he thought nothing of her passionate onslaught of snogging.  Hell, what sixteen-year-old male could _think_ at all in that situation?  Even though she had been uncharacteristically aggressive, he’d been too enthralled to consider _why_. . .  Fuck, she could be aggressive any time she bloody well wanted to.  Should he have been worried that he was pressuring her?  But why would he have thought she didn’t want it?  She was begging him, for fuck’s sake.  It had been the best moment of his life…he had his hands on her…

 

Then she went crazy and Hermione hadn’t been the same since.

 

All day, Ron couldn’t do anything right.  If he touched her, she shrank away.  If he avoided touching her, she became hurt and annoyed.  One minute she was irritable, the next she was quiet and distant.  She wouldn’t respond when he talked to her and heaven forbid he ignore her.

 

Ron just couldn’t figure out what was going on with her.  He _did_ know that if she didn’t come to sleep with him tonight he was going to drag her up there kicking and screaming.  She _was_ going to talk to him.  

 

Maybe it was just that time of the month, Ginny always….

_Crack_.

 

Ron jerked up, leaning on his elbows.  “Fred?  What are you doing here?  The party isn’t until tomorrow.”

 

 “I’ve come early to make a little donation to the needy.”  He grinned wickedly.  “You are a lucky, lucky bloke, baby brother.  See,” he set down his box, “the wonderfully tempting and always surprising Angelina was rifling around my flat the other day and found my collection.  Seems it’s either her or my magazines. . .  and you see I’d be down right daft to give up a regular shag for a bunch of _pictures_.  Even if they are the best damn pictures in England.”

 

Ron held his breath, his eyes going wide.  It couldn’t be.  “You don’t mean…. ?”

 

“Yup, my sadly innocent brother, I am giving you the Mecca… the pinnacle of all witchy magazines… _Wicked, Wicked Witches_.”  Fred held up one of the magazines, showing two naked, undulating big-breasted witches.

 

Ron felt as though he might faint.  He’d certainly snuck into his brothers’ room to sneak a look at these photos before, but to have them all…at his leisure.  He shook his head.  

 

“Mum will kill me.”  Shite, Hermione would kill him.

 

“Oh, worried what Mummy will think?  That’s why you hide them, muck for brains.”  He threw the magazine and Ron caught it against his chest.  “You even have magic to help you.  Right spoiled you are.  It’s made you a pansy.  These should be just the thing to make a man out of you.  George and me, we found those pictures very instructive.”  He laughed.  

 

“Crikey, Angelina should be thanking them, not banishing them.  I’m sure Hermione will enjoy your tutoring just as much, though knowing Hermione…well, they’re good for a wank anyway.”

 

“Hey!”  Ron protested.  “She is not…” What was she not?  Was he going to tell his brother that she wasn’t frigid?  That she mewled and begged in his arms.  That she ran her hand over his erection and sucked his tongue… “She’s not my girlfriend.”

 

Fred laughed again, “Very convincing.  Bit of advice, mate: girls don’t really like it when you deny that they are your girlfriend when they so obviously are.”

 

Yeah, well, do they like it if one says that they are when they aren’t?  He opened the magazine, his heart racing as he took in the pictures.  Shite, there were actual shagging pictures in this magazine.  He had never seen _this_ before.

 

Even as he turned the pages, he felt guilty.  Ron knew he had no good reason to feel bad about it.  He wasn’t doing anything wrong, but all he could think was, ‘Hermione is going to kill me! ’ and as irrational as it was, the voice was winning.  He was just about to throw the magazines back at Fred and tell him to bin them when he found _the_ picture…

 

The picture that would be his downfall.  A lovely, big-breasted witch sprawled out on white satin sheets, wild curls everywhere, obscuring her features.  A wizard lie next to her his mouth sucking on her nipple, his fingers buried in her curls.  And not the curls on her head.

 

Ron stared at the picture, unable to see anything but him and Hermione, frozen in the same pose and painfully aroused.

 

“Hey.”  Ron barely recognized Harry’s voice through the fog of arousal produced by the image in his mind, combined with the photograph in front of him.  He must have just come in the room.  

 

From a distance Fred answered, “Hey, mate, just dropping by to leave a little gift for Ronniekins.  See you blokes at the party.  Enjoy!”   _Crack_ , he was gone.  And he’d left the box behind.

 

“Uh huh,” Ron muttered in response to his departure, not yet able to form a coherent word.  

 

“Holy shite, Ron!  Is that…?”

 

Ron nodded, “ _Wicked, Wicked Witches_.”

 

He felt the bed next to him shift as Harry sat and looked over at the pictures.  He felt oddly protective and almost pulled the magazine away, as if Harry were actually looking at Hermione.  Instead, he quickly flipped the page.  “They’re all starkers?”  Harry asked.

Starkers?  Fuck, he wouldn’t be in nearly so much trouble if they were only starkers.  

 

“Harry, they’re not _just_ starkers.”

 

“Whoa!”  Harry’s mouth dropped.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“What is that?”

 

Oh shite, oh fuck!  That was _not_ Harry’s voice.  That was…his eyes shot up to find Hermione standing in the doorway with her arms crossed.  He almost wished that it had been his mum…almost.

 

He was paralyzed as she walked into the room.  He was impotent and incompetent and completely unable to do anything to stop her from taking the magazine from his hand.  

 

What could he possibly do to deny it anyway?  

 

Hermione slowly turned the pages and he had the irrational thought that she really shouldn’t be looking at that.  She was really much too innocent.  It was yet another way in which he was corrupting her.  

 

Ron waited for the anger to come, bracing himself for the yelling.

 

“Is this what you want?”  she asked softly, not looking up.

 

“What?  No, Hermione, no!”  Ron shook his head rapidly, not completely grasping the situation, but hearing the hurt in her voice.  His stomach turned and his throat filled with bile.  When did he become the biggest wanker that ever lived?  “Hermione, I just…” Just what?  What the hell was his excuse?  Was he supposed to say that he wanted _her_?  Was he allowed to say that?  In front of Harry?

 

When she looked up at him there were tears in her eyes, and Ron shook his head against it, frantically trying to think of what he should say…

 

She opened her mouth to say something and he felt mildly relieved.  That’s it, sweetheart, yell at me, give me the raking down of a lifetime, let me know what an arsehole I am.  But she closed her mouth and gave him a look of such accusation, he’d never felt lower in his life.  

 

Hermione threw the magazine at his chest with surprising strength and flew out of the door.

 

“Hermione!”  he called after her.  Crap, he had to fix this now.  He stumbled and tripped over the bloody box as he rushed for the door.  God dammit, he was going to murder Fred for this.

 

Ron ran down the steps after her pounding footsteps, getting to her door just as she locked it behind her.  He pounded on it.  “Hermione let me in!  You have to let me explain!”  Explain what, you moron?  “Hermione!”

 

“Go away!”  he heard her yell from the room, then nothing.

 

The more he pounded, the angrier and more desperate he felt.  “So help me Hermione, I’m going to knock this door down…” Then he felt himself being pushed off the door as

Hermione cast an Imperturbable on it.  He stumbled and almost fell.  The rage throbbed in his ears.  “Hermione!”  

 

“Ron, mate, you’ll wake Remus and your brothers.”  He only vaguely heard Harry next to him.  He’d forgotten that he was there at all.  He needed to get through that door.  He didn’t care who woke up, he didn’t care who found those bloody magazines.  He needed Hermione.

 

He groped helplessly at his pockets.  There had to be some way through the Imperturbable.  He had forgotten his wand.  Didn’t matter… He punched the door with all his might.

 

“Ron!”  Harry yelled, grasping at his shoulders and trying to pull him away.

 

Ron barely recognized the burning sensation coming over his hand, but he saw the blue of the Imperturbable bend around his hand.  He drew his arm back again and punched, pushing through…almost touching the door.

 

“Ron!  Stop!  Can’t you see your hand?”  Harry forcibly pulled his arm back, making him see that it was bright blue.

 

Fuck!  This wasn’t working.  There had to be some way through.  Ron turned and ran up the stairs, barging into Adrianna’s room without knocking.

 

“Ron?”  she called, surprised, from the bed.

 

He rushed over to the bookcase and scanned the titles.  “There’s got to be some way to break an Imperturbable, right?”  Bloody hell, his hand burned.

 

“Sure,” she said uneasily.

 

“Hermione blocked us out of her room,” Harry supplied, short of breath.

 

“Well, there isn’t a way without knocking the whole house down.  Ron, are you in pain?”  

Ron barely recognized what she was saying; he just kept trying to read the spines through the growing pain in his arm.  He felt hands grasp his arm and cried out at the realization of how much it hurt.

 

“Holy shit, what happened?”  Adrianna asked.

 

Ron just shook his head, gasping from the pain.

 

“He tried to punch through the Imperturbable barrier, bloody idiot.”  Again, the explanation came from Harry.

 

“Jesus, Ron, do you have any idea how dangerous that is?”  Adrianna shook her head as she pushed him into the nearest chair.  “Harry, get my potions trunk.”

 

“I have to talk to Hermione,” Ron managed to grit out.

 

“You have to let me take care of that before you lose your arm, is what you have to do,” she replied quickly, locating a book from the shelf and flipping through the worn pages.

 

“But Hermione…” he murmured, though his head was listing back; he was having trouble thinking for the pain.

 

“Hermione’s fine.  One more word and I’m having your brothers forcibly carry you to the hospital.”  Adrianna’s voice got farther and farther away.  Through half closed eyes, he watched Harry and his cousin gather ingredients for a potion before it all faded away.

 

 

 

* * * * *

 

 

 

Ginny jerked and sat up on her bed as the door slammed with impressive force.  She looked up to see Hermione, red faced and frantic, sit on the edge of her bed and grip the mattress with iron fists.  The younger girl scrambled to the side of her bed and looked at Hermione expectantly.

 

Almost immediately the knocking began followed by Ron’s screaming, “Hermione!  Let me in!”

 

Hermione stared straight ahead, uttering passionately, “Boys are hateful.  They are wretched, horrid creatures.”

 

The pounding got more frantic.  “You have to let me explain!  Hermione!”

 

There were tears in Hermione’s eyes.  She screamed back, “Go away!”  

 

“Hermione, what did he _do_?”  Ginny asked, becoming genuinely scared for her friend and pissed at her brother.  Ron was such an idiot.  Hermione was ignoring her, covering her ears against the pounding.

 

“So help me Hermione, I’m going to knock this door down…”

 

Hermione whipped out her wand with such force that Ginny shrank back.  She stood and pointed it at the door as if the door had just murdered her puppy.  “ _Imperturbis.”_

 

And just like that Ginny was locked in with a crazy woman.  Ron must have really messed up this time.  She watched as her friend slowly resumed her stony position.  The look in her eyes really did make Ginny fear for her sanity.

 

“Hermione!”  she said forcefully, trying to wake her up, “What did Ron do?”

 

Hermione’s lip trembled and tears spilled over.  Oh, hell.  

 

Ginny got up and sat next to her, putting an arm around her shoulders.  “What did that arsehole do now?”  she asked more softly.

 

Hermione buried her head in her hands and muttered something incomprehensible.

 

“What?”  More muttering.  Ginny took a deep breath.  “I can’t hear you,” she told her with frustration, but not as much frustration as Hermione must have been feeling when she jerked up her head and practically screamed, “I _said_ …I found him with a…. with a pornographic magazine.”  She pulled out of Ginny’s embrace and began to pace the room.

 

Ginny watched her and tried to look sympathetic, or at least not show how frightened she was for Hermione’s sanity.  “Hermione,” she said gently, “all boys look at porn.  It’s kind of normal.”  

 

Hermione threw her a frightening glare and shook her head.  “You don’t understand.”  

 

There was a pause and Ginny wondered if she was supposed to say something here.  

 

Thankfully Hermione continued without prompting.  “It’s just proof of how I’ll never be what Ron wants.”

 

“Please!”  Ginny laughed, before she could stop herself.  Why were people so blind when it came to their own love lives?

 

“No!”  Hermione insisted passionately.  “You don’t get it.  The girls in the magazine…they’re what he really wants.  Not some…some little flat chested…”

 

“You’re not flat….

 

“Curveless, naive child, with ugly hair and a plain face.  He wants someone beautiful and womanly.  I was just deluding myself that I could ever be more than a friend and a…a partner to study kissing.  Oh God, I’m teaching him how to kiss other girls.”

 

“Hermione!”  Ginny yelled to get her attention.  “You’re hysterical!  Calm down.  You know Ron finds you attractive, you’re not thinking clearly!  Hell, you’re practically delusional, have you even looked in a mirror?”

 

But the frantic girl continued pacing as if she hadn’t heard her, except for shaking her head in denial of Ginny’ s flattering comments.  

 

“Could you at least sit?  You’re making me dizzy.”  Ginny was shocked when Hermione did as she was asked.  Maybe she was listening after all.  

 

Hermione sat on Ginny’s bed and looked down at the floor.  “It doesn’t matter anyway,” she said in a small voice.  “I ruined everything last night anyway.  We’ll never have a chance now.”

 

“I’m sure that’s not true,” Ginny said, as gently as she could.

 

A strange look came over Hermione’s face as she looked out into the distance.  Then she turned and met Ginny’s eyes for the first time.  “Ginny, how far have you gone with a boy?”

 

Ok, that was not what she had been expecting.  Ginny reeled a little from the change of subject.  “Um, gone?”

 

“Sexually?”  Hermione asked seriously, as if they were discussing transfiguration.

 

“Um, well…” Ginny did not like where this was going.  This conversation would be a lot more comfortable if the _sexually_ didn’t have to do with her brother.  “I reckon some heavy snogging and a bit of touching.”  She didn’t understand why she could feel her neck and cheeks heat up.

 

Hermione swallowed, and asked in a choked voice, “Above or below the waist?”

 

“Above,” Ginny said, her voice coming out in a squeak.  Why did it feel like she was discussing this with Ron and not Hermione?

 

Hermione closed her eyes and looked away, nodding.  It seemed that wasn’t the response she was hoping for.

 

“Hermione,” Ginny asked carefully, unfortunately seeing where this was going.  “Did Ron touch you somewhere that you felt. . .”  Anger at her brother warred with mortification within her, “…uncomfortable?”

 

“No,” Hermione whispered, “It wasn’t Ron.”

 

Ginny actually felt her pop out of her head. . .  she choked.  “You touched him…below the belt.”  Oh, that was not a good image.

 

“I’m a slag,” Hermione said matter-of-factly.

 

“No,” Ginny protested automatically, trying to gain control of her own repulsion.  “No one thinks….”

 

She was cut off by an onslaught of rapid fire questioning.  “Ginny, have you ever felt completely out of control with a boy?  Have you ever felt like your body was on fire and something inside you was changing and moving and about to explode and you needed something but you didn’t know what it was, but you had to have it and if you didn’t you might just die and then you didn’t get it and you think you’re going to completely lose your mind?”

 

Ginny shook her head, trying to catch up with what her friend was saying.  The only part that she understood was the part about Hermione going crazy, which was becoming increasingly obvious.

 

Hermione’s expression drooped, “I can see by your expression you haven’t.  You see I really am a slag, a whore, it must be in my blood, I can’t control myself when I’m with him.”

 

“No, Hermione,” Ginny said with more confidence.  “That’s normal, really.  You’re just a normal teenage girl who really fancies a bloke.  You’re not a slag.”

 

“Why would Ron ever want to be in a real relationship with a slag?”  Hermione asked as if Ginny hadn’t even spoken.

 

Well, that was just great.  Why should Ginny be surprised…no one ever listened to her.  

 

With far too much annoyance she asked, “If you’re so hell bent on blaming yourself, why are you punishing Ron?  Why are you so mad at him?”

 

Hermione’s lip trembled again.  “Because I hate him…I hate him because I need him and I…love him. . .  and he doesn’t want me.”  She turned and threw herself, face down, onto the bed, covering her head with a pillow.  Ginny’s pillow.

 

And apparently that was the end of the conversation, at least from Hermione’s point of view, since nothing Ginny did or said got any kind of further response from her.  Great, now she was trapped in here by an Imperturbable, with a _mute_ crazy person in _her_ bed.

 

Certainly not how Ginny had imagined spending the night she turned fifteen.  Midnight was just about an hour away.  She had hoped to be with Harry.  She slipped over to her night stand and pulled out the watch, clutching it in her hand, loving the feel of the cold metal in her palm.

 

She needed to get out the door.  She and Harry could still do this.  She could still feel the pleasure…she could still spend the night kissing him in her dreams.  Ginny just needed that damn spell down.

 

“Hermione,” she called entreatingly.  “I really need you to lift the Imperturbable so I can go to the loo.”  When there was no response, she added, “We can’t stay trapped in here forever.”

 

Finally, the older girl rolled over and picked up her wand, but before lifting the charm, she looked at Ginny with bloodshot eyes.  “Ginny, if you let Ron in here…. I just can’t, please.”

 

“I won’t, I promise.”  For the first time, Ginny felt truly sorry for her friend.  She deserved more sympathy than Ginny was giving her.

 

Hermione lifted the spell and Ginny quietly slipped out the door.  She was a bit surprised not to find anyone on the other side of the door.  She hadn’t expected her brother to give up so easily.  Maybe Hermione was right.  Maybe Ron didn’t care enough.

 

She found Harry and Ron’s room empty as well but across the hall the door was cracked open.  Ginny found Ron asleep on Adrianna’s bed, while the Empath seemed to be wrapping his arm in some sort of bandage.  Harry caught her eye and quickly approached her, guiding her out of the room and softly closing the door.

 

She looked at him in confusion.  “What?”

 

Harry shook his head, his arms tightly crossed.  Absurdly she noticed how tight the shirt seemed to pull over his arms and chest now.  His expression was stony when he whispered, “Ron tried to punch through the Imperturbable.”

 

Ginny’s eyebrows shot up.  Only her brother would do something so daft.

 

“Yeah, he was in quite a rage.  He burned his arm right good.  Adrianna said he could have lost it if he’d kept going.  He passed out from the pain.”

 

“God!  Is he going to be all right?”

 

“Yeah, Adrianna said she got to him in time.  Says he’ll be fine in the morning.”  He gave a bitter sigh, staring beyond her.  “And all because Hermione was too stubborn to talk to him.  She completely over reacted, it was only a magazine.”

 

Ginny felt herself grow angrier with every word he said.  How dare he…boys were so…boys!  “She wasn’t over reacting!  She’s really hurt, Harry.  You don’t understand.”

 

“I reckon I don’t,” he answered, not looking at her.

 

Great, this was just great.  Ginny could feel tears burning her eyes.  She still felt the cool metal of the watch against her skin and opened her palm to him.  “Well, Hermione’s not sleeping in your room tonight.”

 

Harry nodded.  “I suppose it’s for the best anyway.”

 

For the best?  Of course, more over protective crap.  Or maybe he just didn’t want to feel _that_ with _her_.  “Yeah, for the best.”  She turned and walked away, not trusting herself to look at him any longer.  “See you in the morning,” she called as she descended the stairs.

Hermione was right.  Boys were hateful, horrid, wretched creatures.

 

Back in her room, Hermione seemed to have gone to sleep, thankfully in her own bed.  Ginny wondered if she should tell Hermione that Ron had indeed been so desperate to get to her that he was now comatose on Adrianna’s bed nursing the wounds.

 

No, let her sleep.  Ron deserves the pain, the stupid arse.  All boys deserved what they got.  Hermione would find out about it all in the morning.

 

In the morning…. Ginny hated birthdays, almost as much as she hated boys.

 

 

 

* * * * * *

 

 

 

Hermione had been awake since before dawn.

 

It made sense, really; she had been carefully training herself to get up so that she could escape from Ron’s bed to hers before the household roused for the day.  But today she awakened, already in her own bed and that mere realization almost had her in tears.  As if not sleeping with Ron was the worst thing imaginable.  As if she had actually thought that it could go on forever, that she wasn’t fifteen years old, that she was actually in _that_ kind of relationship with him…. God she was so stupid.

 

Going over the events of the day before, waves and waves of sickening emotions washed over her.  It was all over now.  She’d never be with Ron like that again.  Practice was over and with it the chance of anything more.

 

Even as Hermione thought it, she realized how untrue it was.  Looking at yesterday’s events logically it was clear that there was still _hope_.  Nothing that had happened was irreparable.  Ron hadn’t actually said he didn’t want to be with her…

 

As much as Hermione want to rely on her old friend logic, she knew it didn’t really matter.  The feelings of misery, rejection, and self-doubt were so profound that she knew that she she’d never be able to _act_ logically.  Why start now?  She’d take one look at Ron and it would be all hormones and defensiveness.

 

So, instead Hermione did the most irrational thing of all.  She hid, hid in the ballroom.  

 

The one place that everyone was bound to come sooner or later.  She hadn’t only lost her ability to act logically, she’d apparently become completely daft.  But still she sat, curled in a tight ball on a sofa hoping beyond hope that she wouldn’t have to talk to Ron or

Ginny… God, Ginny…she surely thought Hermione was insane.  She was most likely right.

 

An argument could be heard coming from the staircase.  “No, Charlie, I said no…just get the hell out of my head.”  Adrianna was arguing in English.  Probably didn’t realize anyone was listening.

 

“If you’d just stop being so bloody stubborn…”

 

“I said no.”  Adrianna came to an abrupt stop when she saw Hermione, a look of confusion and concern coming over her face.  

 

That was when Hermione realized her choice of _hiding_ place wasn’t illogical at all.  No, instead it was merely pathetic and humiliating.  She had a very good reason for coming here after all…and even now it hurt her to admit it.

 

Hermione had wanted Adrianna to be the one to find her.  She wanted her to find her and read her mind and emotions and be the interfering know-it-all that the woman was known to be and _fix_ things for her.  

 

Hermione needed help…she was completely desperate.  She’d tried Ginny, but it had been no use.  Ginny didn’t know how to deal with this.  Hermione needed an experienced woman, one she had a frightening suspicion knew exactly what it was like to be in love with _and_ out of control over a Weasley.

 

Hermione looked up and summoned all the courage she had to hold Adrianna’s intense gaze.  She tried to convey her need without words.  She just couldn’t bring herself to ask this woman, who she had despised up until a few days ago, to help her with something so intimate.  So, Hermione pleaded with her in her mind all the while berating herself.  She officially had no self-respect left.

 

The lines of concern on Adrianna’s face deepened as she approached the younger girl, putting up a hand to Charlie that said ‘keep quiet and keep back. ’ She searched

 

Hermione’s face and the girl recognized frustration in Adrianna’s expression.  The Empath seemed to be having trouble reading her.  When finally Adrianna stood directly in front of her she raised a hand as if to touch Hermione, but paused inches away.  Hermione remembered that Bill had said Adrianna had once needed touch to read someone.  Were her powers so off that she needed touch again?  Was she asking permission to read her?

 

Hermione nodded.  Please.  Please.  She just needed help.  She blinked back tears as the Empath placed her hand over hers and looked deeply into her eyes.  After a mere moment, Adrianna dropped her hand and sighed.  “Come on,” she said softly, putting her hand on the younger girl’s elbow and gently urging her to stand.  “Let’s go someplace with a door.”

 

Charlie looked furious at the interruption.  He bit out menacingly, “’Drana…”

 

“Charlie, go!”  Adrianna snapped as she guided Hermione across to the dining room.  “Just go and check on your brother, all right.  The fool tried to punch through an Imperturbable last night.  Go make sure the burns have healed…please.”

 

Hermione’s breath caught.  “Ron?  Is he all right?”  she squeaked, afraid.  He had been hurt…hurt trying to get to her.

 

“He should be fine,” Adrianna reassured softly, closing the door in Charlie’s face and pulling out two chairs, facing each other.  “Had a rough night, though.  Quite a temper, your young man.”

 

Tears came to Hermione’s eyes, “He’s not my young man.”  Those words brought back all the hurt and anger she felt the minute she saw _that magazine._ She was glad his damned hand hurt!

 

Adrianna didn’t respond to assertion, just sat.  “So, what’s wrong?”

 

Didn’t she know?  That was the whole point, wasn’t it?  What good was it to go to an Empath if Hermione actually had to talk?  The girl carefully sat in the offered seat and drew up her knees, placing her heels on the edge of the seat.

 

“Hermione?”  she was prompted.

 

She opened her mouth to speak and was frustrated when nothing came out.  So instead she snapped, “Can’t you tell?”

 

Adrianna frowned and rubbed her forehead in a tired manner.  “Normally I can…. it would be better if you would just tell me.  Don’t you hate it when your thoughts are read?”

 

Shoving aside her shame at her own hypocrisy, Hermione decided to ignore the last part.  

 

“Normally?”  she asked instead.

 

The Empath looked at her with a tense expression.  “Yeah, well my powers haven’t been under the best control lately.”

  

“Why?”  Hermione asked without thinking, as if getting information from Adrianna would somehow justify her asking help of the Empath.

 

“Lots and lots of reasons I suppose.”  There was a far away expression on her face.

Hermione couldn’t keep herself from asking, “Any of them have to do with Charlie?”

 

Adrianna gave a small puff of a laugh and met her eyes again.  “They _all_ have to do with Charlie.”  The smile she smiled was self-deprecating and bitter.

 

Somehow, it made Hermione feel infinitely more comfortable.  She smiled back.  “I think I can understand,” she confessed softly, not sure exactly how their situations related, but somehow knowing they did.  

 

A deep sadness came over Adrianna’s face, but it was gone as quickly as it came.  She swallowed, “So, are you going to tell me what has you so…” she paused clearly having as much trouble as Hermione was naming all her emotions.  “…miserable?”

 

Miserable?  Good a word as any, Hermione supposed.  She nodded in response and rubbed her eyes.  Where to start?  She went for concise.  “Ron doesn’t want me.”

 

Adrianna laughed.  “Try again.  You’re smarter than that.”

 

Hermione crossed her arms over her chest like a shield and let the bitterness spill out.  

 

“Fine, he wants me like any sixteen-year-old boy wants to be with any girl who he is holed up with for a month and who offers herself to him to do whatever he wants with.  

 

He doesn’t really want _me._  Not in a way that counts and why should he?  I’m plain, I’m boring…boring looking I mean, I have ugly hair and I have the body of a child…or a boy.”

 

“And that’s what _Ron_ thinks?”  The question was thankfully serious.  And Hermione nodded in response.  “He said this?”

 

Hermione scoffed, looking away.  “Of course not, he’s not _that_ big a prat.”

 

“Ah, of course.  So you must have evidence?”

 

“Evidence?”  Crikey, she was going to make her use logic.  As Hermione watched Adrianna, it was clear she wasn’t going to say anything until Hermione came up with some ‘evidence. ’ “Well, I found him drooling all over those…those _pornographic_ magazines.”

 

The response was a pensive frown.  “Hermione, all boys look at porn.  It doesn’t mean anything.”

 

“It does in this case!”  Hermione insisted.  She didn’t know how to explain it.  She just _knew_ that Ron found her wanting …she just knew it.

 

“Fine, then.  Has he never told you he thinks that you are attractive?”

Hermione turned her head away, not about to admit anything.

 

“Hermione…” Adrianna prodded.

 

“Yes, but…”

 

“But… what has he said?”

 

“He said I was beautiful…” Hermione broke off in a mumble.  She’d thought the Empath would understand.  Clearly she didn’t.

 

“What was that?”

 

“He said I was beautiful, ok?”  she snapped, feeling foolish and hating the woman for it.

 

“And what else has he said?”

 

God, she _must_ be reading her…it wasn’t fair.  “He said I was gorgeous… _once_ …I think.”

 

“Hmmm so then….”  Her expression was annoyingly knowing.

 

“You don’t understand,” Hermione broke in passionately.  “That was before…before…” she lamely gestured to her chest.

 

“Before he…” Adrianna looked like she was genuinely trying to understand.  Maybe she wasn’t reading her.  “Before he saw you naked?”

 

“No!  Well, yes…not entirely.”  Hermione buried her head in her hand.

 

“Before he saw you topless.”

 

Hermione nodded.   _Finally_ she figured something out.  

 

“So, he saw you topless and something he did makes you think that he wasn’t impressed…no, not something he said…” she broke off in frustration.  “You’re going to have to help me out here Hermione, my head hurts.  How many times have…”

 

“Just once!”  Hermione defended herself, flushing deeply.

 

“Once, which obviously wasn’t last night, so…the night before?”  Hermione nodded.  

 

Adrianna sat back and crossed her arms.  “So, let me get this straight.  Once he saw you half naked and his addled teenage brain didn’t reassure you immediately that you were beautiful, so clearly he thinks you’re not womanly enough for him.”

 

“No!”  Hermione defended, angrily.  “That not it…not _just_ it.  You don’t understand.”  Why did she come in here?

 

Adrianna sighed.  “No, I think I understand perfectly.  Ron’s not the problem here…you are.”

 

Hermione’s stomach sank.  As if she didn’t know that.

 

“Hermione, look at me.  You are smarter than this.  The problem is not that Ron doesn’t think you are attractive.  The problem is that _you_ don’t.”  Hermione shook her head in denial, but she was ignored.  “I could sit here and tell you that you are being ridiculous, that Ron finds you extremely attractive.  I could tell you that you have a very nice shape and that you are far from plain, but it doesn’t matter what I say.  It doesn’t matter what Ron says, either.  In a day, an hour, it will disappear like a whiff of smoke, because _you_ don’t think you’re attractive.”

 

“That’s ridiculous,” Hermione denied in a small voice.  

 

“Really?  So what’s up with your hair?”

 

Hermione’s hands flew to the wild mess.  “It’s horrible,” she said bitterly.  “I hate it.”  

 

Which only served to prove her point, so why was Adrianna bringing it up?

 

“Yes, it certainly is a mess.  The question is, why is it a mess, when a hair cut and a simple beauty charm could change all that?  A charm that a witch of your caliber could do in her sleep.  So, why haven’t you bothered to learn one?”

 

Hermione set her jaw and looked at her defiantly.  “Because there are more important things than beauty charms and hair.  I’m _not_ shallow.  I don’t care about how I look.”

 

Adrianna snorted.  “You care so little that you are having a nervous break down about Ron not thinking you’re pretty enough,” she pointed out in a thoroughly annoying way.  

 

“Hermione, _everyone_ cares about their looks.  Anyone who says they don’t is lying; it’s not shallow.  What you’ve been doing is hiding.  If you don’t try, if you say it doesn’t matter then…well, then you can’t fail, right?”

 

Her words tore through Hermione painfully, making her feel exposed.  “So, what can I do about it?”  she asked bitterly.

 

“Very simple, you try.”  

 

Hermione expected to see a triumphant look on Adrianna’s face when she finally found the courage to look at her, but instead there was simple sincerity, without a bit of judgment.  It was the look of someone who was willing to help her and God help her she wanted that help.  She didn’t want to feel this way anymore.  She…

 

There was a knocking at the door that made Adrianna cringe.  “Go away Charlie!”  she called.

 

“It’s me,” Ginny yelled back in an annoyed voice and Adrianna opened the door.

 

Ginny slammed it behind her and threw herself into a chair.  “I can’t believe you left me alone with those…boys!”

 

“Um, Happy Birthday,” Adrianna said, cautiously.

 

“Yeah, Happy Birthday?”  Hermione chimed in.

 

Ginny crossed her arms and sulked in her chair.  “Happy Bloody Birthday to me.  I hate boys.  They’re all horrible!”

 

“Can’t argue with that,” Adrianna commented, leaning back.

 

Hermione could only nod absently.  She wondered what Harry had done now.

 

“Adrianna!”  Charlie’s roar echoed through the room, causing Adrianna to weave her hands into her hair and pull.  “If you don’t come out of there…”

 

“I’ll come out when I damn well feel like it.  Leave me alone!”  she bellowed, pulling her hair harder.  She turned to Ginny.  “I swear if I don’t get out of this house, your mother is really going to have a reason to hate me because she’s going to have one less son when she returns.”

 

“It’s not as though we can go anywhere,” the redhead responded bitterly.  “We’re _trapped_ here.”

 

“Says who?”  Adrianna challenged.

 

Hermione took a deep breath, having made a decision.  “Adrianna,” she called dragging the woman’s eyes back to hers.  “I want to… _try,_ that is.”

 

Adrianna just smiled and Hermione was relieved that she didn’t have to explain anymore.  

 

“Well then,” Adrianna said standing.  “I say we get out of this wretched house.  Ginny needs a birthday celebration besides this party, which is little more than an excuse for her brothers to get drunk…”

 

“Is that what they’re all about?”  Ginny exclaimed.

 

“Hermione needs a new _outlook_ and I need to get as far away from Charlie as humanly possible.  So grab your things, _we_ are taking the afternoon off.”

 

Hermione felt a surge of excitement…and relief.  “Is it safe?”  she asked, even as she stood

 

“As long as we don’t use magic.  You think Voldemort is combing Muggle London for signs of us?  I don’t think so.”

 

“Wait,” Ginny asked.  “We’re _really_ leaving Grimmauld Place?”

 

“Unless you don’t want to?”

 

“Oh, I want to,” she said eagerly, standing.  Ginny looked at Hermione expectantly, as if she was waiting for her to protest.  She looked as though she couldn’t quite believe that Hermione would willing go anywhere with Adrianna.

 

Hermione couldn’t quite believe it either.  Maybe she really had lost all good sense.  She smiled at the thought.  “When do we leave?”

 

 

 

* * * * *

 

 

 

When Harry awoke, he found no one where they were supposed to be.  Not only were his usual roommates elsewhere, ‘Drana, who fell asleep in Ron’s bed after he had passed out in hers, was also gone.  Harry’s gruff mood intensified when he went in search of his cousin and his friends in the ballroom and found it empty.  

 

It had been a late and agonizing night.  Watching Ron, out of his mind over Hermione, seeing his arm turn blue as he tried to punch through the Imperturbable and not being able to stop him…Harry hated feeling so helpless.  It didn’t make sense to him that

 

Hermione had reacted like that.  Harry had thought she really cared about Ron, but then why would she shut him out like that…without even an explanation?  It was so clear the way Ron felt about her.  If she broke Ron’s heart, Harry worried that none of them would survive it.  

 

And Ginny?  Why was she so set on defending Hermione?  She didn’t even go see Ron as he was unconscious in Adrianna’s room.  Harry could still see his eyes roll into the back of his head as Ron had fainted.  There was something deeply disturbing about the tall, healthy almost-man… _fainting._  But not as disturbing as the frantic speed at which

 

Adrianna had gathered ingredients and called out orders to make the restorative paste.

The kitchen was empty as well…if Adrianna was off in Charlie’s room Harry thought he just might scream until he couldn’t scream anymore.  He stomped up the stairs.  She had just _better_ be in her room checking on Ron.

 

He ran into Ginny on the first floor landing.  She looked surprised to see him.  “Oh, hey, Harry, have you seen Hermione?”

 

Harry frowned.  “No,” he snapped.  “I haven’t seen _anyone_.”

 

Ginny gave him a look of pure rage and shook her head.  She pushed around him and down the stairs.

 

What was with her?

 

Harry found Ron sitting up on Adrianna’s bed, with Charlie unwrapping a now clean bandage.  Ron held the forearm that he had burned the night before, flexing and unflexing his hand.  The once bright blue had faded to a light, sickly hue.

 

“All right there, Ron?”  Harry asked.

 

“Yeah, fine,” Ron said distractedly, looking at his arm.  “Just tingles a bit.  Have you seen Hermione?”  he asked anxiously.

 

Harry shook his head.  Hermione.  Blimey, Ron had it bad.  

 

Charlie answered instead.  “We saw her this morning, huddled on the sofa of the ballroom.  Adrianna took her to the dining room to _talk_.”

 

“Oh,” Ron said, looking down.  “Was she ok?”

 

Charlie, who Harry now thought of as _the wanker_ , looked as agitated as Harry felt.  “She looked upset.  ‘Drana certainly seemed concerned.   _Hermione_ didn’t have a blue arm, however.”

 

“I need to talk to her,” Ron said, almost to himself.

 

Harry rolled his eyes.  “Isn’t that what got you into this mess in the first place?”

 

“Fred’s bloody magazines are what got me into this mess in the first place,” he responded heatedly.

 

Charlie grabbed Ron’s bad arm and looked it over roughly.  “Adrianna needs to look at that.”  The wanker stormed out of the room.

 

Why Adrianna was any better than Charlie at judging Ron’s _mostly healed_ wounds was beyond Harry.  It _wasn’t_ as though she was a Healer.  Harry heard the wanker screaming at Adrianna from two floors down.  He clenched his fists with the urge to punch something.

 

“I’ve really done it this time, mate,” Ron said sadly.

 

Harry shook his head.  “You didn’t do anything, not really.  Hermione should have talked to you, let you explain about Fred’s stupid magazines.”

 

Ron just shook his head with a dejected look.

 

More noises wafted up the stairs, the familiar sound of Adrianna and Charlie arguing and then the sound of multiple feet tramping up the stairs.

 

Adrianna came rushing into her room.  She picked up Ron’s arm, and turned it, looking at all sides.  “Does it still hurt?”  Ron shook his head.  “He’s fine,” she proclaimed, dropping his arm and moving to her armoire.

 

Charlie stood with his arms crossed at the door.  “Dranna…” he growled.

 

She largely ignored him, grabbing her bag and addressing Ron and Harry.  “I’m taking the girls shopping for Ginny’s birthday.  No magic while I’m gone.”  Adrianna gave them no time to react.  She rushed past Charlie, into the hall and down the stairs.

 

“What do you mean, taking the girls shopping?”  Ron asked somewhat hysterically.  He was off the bed and after her in an instant.  Harry followed.

 

They caught up with her in the foyer where the ‘girls’ were ready to go.  Ginny was smiling and practically bouncing with excitement over her little birthday trip.  Hermione was biting her lip nervously and glancing at Ron, but there were no signs that she didn’t want to go on this little escapade.

 

Hermione was willingly going out of their safe house with Adrianna.  She must _really_ want to get away from Ron, either that or she finally had gone completely mental.

 

“You can’t go out, it’s not safe!”  Ron bellowed.

 

“We’ll be fine,” Adrianna assured.

 

“No.”  Ron looked frantic.  He looked at Hermione pleadingly.  “You can’t!”  He grabbed her arm with his blue hand and pulled her aside, against the wall.

 

Hermione stared in fixation at his blue hand.  “Is that…are you all right?”  she asked in a voice so small that Harry barely heard her.

 

“Hermione,” Ron whispered, pleadingly and paused.  “It’s fine….  just tingles a bit.”

 

“You really shouldn’t have tried to punch through the Imperturbable.  It was very foolish,” she told the floor.

 

Ron stared at her with such intensity, as if he could make her look at him by sheer force of will.  “ _You_ shouldn’t have blocked me out.”

 

“Ron…I…I have to go.”  She took him by surprise, ducking under his arm and escaping.  She scrambled out the door behind Ginny before Ron could stop her.

 

“Remember…no magic,” Adrianna called as she quickly closed the door behind her.

Harry looked around the now quiet room.  What the hell had just happened?

 

Ron looked as though he might cry and Charlie as though he might implode.  “I can’t believe her,” the wanker said in a furious tone.  “That she’d risk all their safety for a shopping trip…and a hair cut.”

 

“Hair cut?  Who’s getting a hair cut?”  Ron asked somewhat hysterically.

 

His brother shrugged absently.  “Hermione, I think….”

 

“What…?  What!”  

 

Harry just couldn’t believe he had been left behind.

 

 

 

* * * * *

 

 

 

Author’s Note:

 

Yeah, I know, makeover Hermione is one of the biggest cliché’s out there.  My justification for using it goes like this: In every young woman’s life there comes a time when she has to decide to stop being a little girl and embrace being a woman.  Sometimes it happens when you are nine and sometimes when you’re twenty-one.  Almost always, it comes with some outward manifestation, whether it is getting rid of the pink ballerina’s on the wall, or cutting off two feet of hair you’d clung to for a decade.  For Hermione it’s taming the frizz.  


	25. Makeovers

“Ron, would you bloody well stop pacing? You’re making me nauseated.”

 

Ron ignored his brother and continued to pace the length of the kitchen, while Harry sat doing his summer homework. Charlie was reluctantly decorating for the party as Adrianna and Hermione were _supposed_ to have done.  He clenched his fists.  “Where the hell are they?  It’s been, like, six hours!” Ron finally asked, exasperated.

 

“Eight, actually,” Harry said casually, barely looking up from his work.

 

“What!”  Ron exclaimed, his heart beating horribly.  He stopped and stared daggers at the others.  How could they be so casual?  “What time is it?”

 

“After four,” Harry answered, again not looking up. 

 

“Shite!  Why didn’t you tell me?  Something could be wrong.  They could have been attacked.” Ron ran a frantic hand through his hair.  Images of _his_ Hermione in danger, getting hurt, kept flashing in his mind, heightening the anxiety the argument with her had created.

 

“I’m sure Adrianna can take care of anything that should come up.”

 

Damn Harry and his irritating calmness.  If he didn’t look up and pay attention soon, Ron was going to have to do something drastic. “And what if she can’t?  It’s been forever.”

 

“It hasn’t actually,” Charlie piped in bitterly.  “If it weren’t for the party I wouldn’t put it past Adrianna to stay out until the stores closed.  She shops like a maniac, especially when it’s one of her stress induced, pissed off shopping sprees.  I’ve been on the receiving end of several of these _punishments_.  She can be such a Goddamned girl.”

 

Ron looked at his brother.  That didn’t make a bit of bloody sense! “What are you going on about?” he asked, exasperated.

 

“Shopping is a punishment?”  Harry asked sceptically, finally looking up from his work.

 

Charlie was looking at them as if they were stupid, further serving to agitate Ron.  “Don’t you know?  When women get mad at a man they shop!  They avoid them and get things they want and spend lots of money that the men don’t want them to spend.”

 

“But it’s not _our_ money,” Harry argued.

 

“I didn’t say it was logical,” Charlie said, sitting in a chair, obviously bored with stacking plates and arranging glasses.

 

“Well, Hermione’s not a _girl_!!”  Ron snapped.

 

“Excuse me?” Charlie choked. “No wonder she’s not talking to you.”

 

Ron rolled his eyes and rubbed his face.  “I _meant_ that she’s not _that_ kind of girl and if Adrianna turns her into one, I’ll….”

 

 _Crack_. _Crack_.   They were interrupted as George and Alicia Apparated in.  Alicia was balancing a large cake, which she gently placed on the table.  “Goodness, is this all that you’ve done!” she exclaimed.

 

Charlie shrugged unapologetically and George put down a large box he had been carrying. Ron frowned at the lot of them. What was all this rubbish, anyway?  How many people were coming for this party?

 

 _Crack_. _Crack_.   Fred and Angelina arrived bearing gifts and more boxes of party supplies.  No sign of the only person Ron wanted to see.  Ron glared at Fred and clenched his jaw.  This was all his fault!  Him and his fucking magazines!

 

“So, where’s the birthday girl?”  George asked jovially.  Ron couldn’t control the loud growl that erupted from him in response.  The twins and their girlfriends stared at him with wide-eyed surprised and amusement.  “Something wrong, baby brother?” 

 

Harry sighed and said in a long-suffering tone, “Adrianna took Ginny and Hermione out for a shopping trip.”

 

There were more confused looks.  “Sooo,” George said cheekily, “Ronnikins is annoyed that his girlfriend went out without him?”

 

“No, _Ronnikins_ is annoyed because ‘Drana’s bringing his _girlfriend_ to get a haircut,” Charlie supplied with an evil grin. 

 

Ron gave him an angry smirk in response.  “Stop calling her my girlfriend,” he bit out.

 

Alicia let out a squeal, “Hermione’s getting her hair done?  Who by?”

 

“Bout bloody time,” Angelina commented, flopping into a kitchen chair.  “That girl’s needed some serious hair help forever.”

 

“I wonder what they’ll do.  Maybe she’ll get it straightened, get rid of all that frizz,” Alicia said excitedly.  “Oh, I can’t wait to see it.”

 

Ron could do nothing but sputter at all the stupid girlish lunacy.  Then he heard the word ‘straighten.’  It bounced and rebounded through his head. Oh, no!  She couldn’t.  She wouldn’t.  Would she?  “What do you mean straightened!  Her hair?  Why would she do such a bloody daft thing as that?  Straightened!  Goddamn it!”

 

The restlessness over came him and he went back to pacing and hair pulling.  If she didn’t get back soon….with her curls intact, he was going to go completely mental.  Shite, if she straightened her hair…he’d….he’d just have to see that she un-straightened it. 

 

Fred laughed at his reaction.  “You know, sometimes girls get their hair cut when they’re mad at a bloke.  Now, who would Hermione be mad at?  Hm, let’s see.  Maybe she’s upset that this bloke won’t admit she’s his girlfriend?”

 

It was a good thing Fred was on the other side of the kitchen table.  “Maybe,” Ron responded angrily, “She’s mad about those bloody magazines you dumped in my room.  _Maybe_ this is all your sodding fault!” he ended in a bellow.

 

“Fred!” Angelina cried.  “You gave him those magazines?  I specifically told you to bin them.”

 

“Angie, you don’t just bin a collection like that.  Do you know how much they’re worth?  Besides Ronnikins needs them.  Hermione will appreciate all the knowledge and skill he obtains from them.  Ow!” 

 

Fred broke off when Angelina finally gave him an impressive punch in the arm.  “You’re a pig!”

 

“What!” Fred said, shrinking away from her, but laughing all the same.  “He needs all the help he can get.  What with his bird out there defrizzing herself for…”

 

“So, help me Fred, you’re dead!”   Ron could not stand it anymore.  He lunged for his brother, his cheeks burning.

 

Fred looked genuinely concerned as Ron rounded the table.

 

“I’d run if I were you,” Charlie called, picking through the bag of snacks Angelina had brought.  “He’s been in a right rage since yesterday.  Damn near punched through an Imperturbable last night and almost lost his arm when Hermione wouldn’t let him in.”

 

Fred backed away and Ron burned off some of his aggression by chasing him.

 

“An Imperturbable, huh?”  George commented conversationally, stepping back so Ron had better access to Fred.  “Cool.”

 

Charlie frowned and shook his head.  “Baby brother is rabid over that girl!”

 

“Am not!!”  Ron screamed, continuing the chase.  “Anyway, you’re one to talk!”

 

Charlie’s eyes narrowed and Harry looked up frowning.  “Then why are you so upset, Ron?” Harry asked his best mate asked. 

 

The uncharacteristically direct question stopped Ron in his tracks.  He sputtered for a few seconds.

 

“Yes, Ron, enlighten us as to why you’re chasing my twin around the table?”  George asked with a grin.

 

“I…I just…”  He needed to think of something that didn’t reveal his feelings for Hermione.  “Hermione’s my best mate.  I don’t want Adrianna going and changing her.  She looks the way she should look.  Hermione shouldn’t have straight hair and stupid girly clothes, and face coloring.  She’s going to turn her into… into…a trollop!” 

 

Yeah, that didn’t give anything away.  Idiot!

 

“Trollop?  Sound’s pretty good to me,” Fred called from where he was hiding behind his girlfriend, who turned and smacked him on the head.  “Ow! What’s gotten into you, woman!”  He grabbed her around the waist causing her to double over with giggles as he started to tickle her.

 

Ron was going to vomit.

 

“Don’t worry, Ron.  ‘Drana’s not going to change Hermione,” Charlie reassured.

 

Harry nodded.  “Why would she put her in face color when she doesn’t even wear it herself?”

 

“She better not …” 

 

Ron was interrupted when the woman he was complaining about emerged from the staircase smiling, hands full of bags.  “Hello,” she called out, looking more cheerful than Ron had ever seen her.  She flung her packages on the table and gave Harry a peck on the head.  “Did you have a good day?  Harry, I bought you more workout clothes.  Your stuff is abysmal.  And we got both you and Ron shirts and pants for the party tonight.  Don’t want you looking like vagabonds. Is this all you’ve gotten done for the party?”  She said it all in a rush, then looked at Charlie whose expression indicated he was about to rage at her.  “Don’t you start with me!” she warned.  “I’m in a good mood, don’t you dare ruin it.”

 

  1.   Who cares?  “Where’s Hermione?”  He turned breathlessly at the sound of feet on the stairs, only to find his sister….



 

Fuck, she looked so different.  All her hair was _gone_!  And was that a dress she was wearing?  Crap, if they did that to his Hermione… “Where’s Hermione?” he asked louder.

 

Ginny put her hands on her hips and glared at him “’Hello, happy birthday, Ginny.  My, don’t you look nice.’” She mocked.

 

Ron thought he might go out of his mind.  “Happy birthday, where’s Hermione?”

 

She rolled her eyes, “She went upstairs to put down her bags…”

 

Ron didn’t hear the rest of the sentence, he was pushing past her and up the stairs.   He came to an abrupt halt in the foyer when he saw Hermione descending the staircase from the first floor.  He held his breath.

 

“Oh, thank God!”  Oops, he hadn’t meant to say that aloud, but his relief had been too great.  She looked…looked like Hermione.  Actually, she looked beautiful. The only change was her hair.  She was even wearing the same outfit she had left in. Her hair was still long and curly, there just seemed to be less of it and the curls were sleek and shinny ringlets.  No frizz at all.  She looked amazing. 

 

For some reason it made him livid.

 

“Thank God?” she asked carefully, averting her eyes as she slowly descended the stairs and stopped at the bottom.  She looked ready to flee.

 

“Oh no you don’t,” Ron grabbed her arm and pulled her into the ballroom.  He turned on her.  “What the hell were you thinking running away and getting a bloody _makeover_!”

 

 

 

* * * * *

 

           

Harry did his best to keep his calm throughout the entire spectacle, trying to concentrate on his homework even as his Ron chased his brother around the table.  Actually, he’d been endeavoring to keep his calm all day long.  The house just couldn’t handle one more male in a snit.  Ron had paced and complained and raged for _eight_ fucking hours.  And Charlie…sorry, the _wanker_ , hadn’t been much better.  Slightly more subtle in his snit, but snapping and glaring all the same.

 

Harry was beginning to think that the girls had a point.  Especially after he realized that he had snapped at Ginny this morning when he really should have wished her a happy birthday.  She had good reason to be pissed at him; he was a shite.

 

Not that he had completely forgiven the girls.  They had instigated the famous Weasley tempers times two, then left him to deal with it _for eight fucking hours_.  Hermione _had_ gone bloody nutters and taken Ron along with her.  Adrianna _was_ paying very little attention to him, even if it was the sodding wanker’s fault and worst of all they hadn’t taken him with them.

 

At the moment, he would have gladly sat and watched them get their hair done all day long.  _That’s_ how torturous this house had become.

 

He listened to his best mate, again deny his feelings for Hermione, even as he tried to pummel Fred for causing a rift between them.  Harry couldn’t stand it anymore. “Then why are you so upset, Ron?” he asked. 

 

Harry stared at Ron as he paused and sputtered.  Normally Harry didn’t confront Ron about his feelings, but the day was wearing on him.

 

George threw his own taunt into the mix. “Yes, Ron, enlighten us as to why you’re chasing my twin around the table?” 

           

Ron sputtered some more. “I…I just…Hermione’s my best mate.  I don’t want Adrianna going and changing her.  She looks the way she should look.  Hermione shouldn’t have straight hair and stupid girly clothes, and face coloring.  She’s going to turn her into… into…a trollop!” 

 

Harry had to avert his gaze, as he rolled his eyes.  That was the most pathetic response he’d ever heard.  He was Hermione’s best mate as well.  She could shave off all her hair and die the fuzz blue for all _he_ cared.  Fred ribbed Ron a little more and began to wrestle with his girlfriend.  Harry tried again to write his Transfiguration essay.

 

Then Harry heard the wanker defend his cousin. “Don’t worry, Ron.  ‘Drana’s not going to change Hermione.”

 

Defending her was Harry’s job. “Why would she put her in face color when she doesn’t even wear it herself?”

 

Ron was still being irrational.“She better…” 

 

Adrianna appeared at the bottom of the stairs and called a jaunty, “Hello.” She looked happier than she had since they returned to EnglandHe swallowed some guilt for that one.  She walked directly to Harry, flinging all her shopping bags on the table and giving him a kiss on the top of his head.  Adriannna was acting like she had before the bloody wanker arrived and Harry grinned and felt himself relax in response.

 

“Did you have a good day?” his cousin asked him.  “Harry, I bought you more workout clothes.  Your stuff is abysmal.And we got both you and Ron shirts and pants for the party tonight.  Don’t want you looking like vagabonds.” She hadn’t forgotten about him. 

 

“Is this all you’ve gotten done for the party?”  The wanker started to defend his shoddy work before she cut him off. “Don’t you start with me!” she warned.  “I’m in a good mood, don’t you dare ruin it.”

 

Take that.  Back off, Wanker!

 

“Where’s Hermione?”  Ron certainly had a one-track mind.  He turned excitedly to the sound of steps on the stairs, but it wasn’t Hermione….

 

Holy shite, was that Ginny?  Harry thought maybe he’d stopped breathing.  She’d never looked like such a…such a girl.  No, not girl, _woman_.  Crap, she looked a good five years older.

 

Ron, ever the prat today, argued with her, but Harry couldn’t hear the words.  For some reason all the sounds in the room had turned to a dull hum. Ginny had curves, _generous_ curves, that were outlined by the pale yellow sundress that she was wearing.  Harry could see the freckles on her shoulders, probably because the mass on hair that usually covered them was gone.  Now it framed her face in a fluffy red cloud, the exact color of the sunset, just brushing her shoulders, where the ends curled every which way. 

 

Even her face looked different…prettier.  Maybe it was the way her smile beamed  as Angelina and Alicia gushed over how wonderful she looked.  Harry felt that maybe he should tell her she looked good as well, but he didn’t seem to be able to make his mouth form words.

 

Ron had somehow disappeared and Angelina and Alicia were introduced to Adrianna, and still Harry couldn’t pull himself out of his daze.  He really needed to stop staring at Ginny.  She had three older brothers in the room, all of whom would delight in pummeling him.

 

 _Crack_.  Make that four older brothers, he thought. Bill Apparated in holding the largest box yet.  Harry forced his gaze back to his essay and concentrated on his breathing.

 

“Hello all.  Wow, Gin, what happened to you?”  Bill called merrily as he set down his box.

 

“Adrianna took me out for my birthday,” Ginny said dramatically, as she sat across from him and threw Harry a …a flirtatious look?  He almost choked.  “We had the _best_ day.”  Harry couldn’t return her smile and hers faltered.  He needed to say something nice, but couldn’t make the words come.

 

“You look…all grown up,” Bill said with a frown.  “A little _too_ grown up.” He narrowed his eyes at Adrianna.

 

Harry’s cousin just shrugged.  “Nonsense, she looks lovely.”

 

“Bloody fantastic, Gin,” Angelina joined in.

 

Ginny smiled happily and ran her fingers through the strands of her now shorter hair.  They looked soft.  “ _Antonio_ says that short girls shouldn’t have long hair.  It only makes them look shorter.”

 

George sniggered, “Yeah, you’re a virtual giant now, Gin.”

 

Adrianna rolled her eyes. “Antonio is very talented.”

 

“Yeah,” Bill smirked, “So, then why didn’t you get your hair cut?”

 

Charlie let out a guffaw which he immediately turned into a cough as ‘Drana glared at him.  “Unfortunately, I have to keep my hair long and indefinitely out of style,” she explained.

 

“What is your magic in you’re hair?” Fred teased.

 

Charlie snickered, “No….she just had a very bad experience once.”

 

Adrianna narrowed her eyes.  “I got my hair cut as short as Ginny’s once.  Unfortunately, I have the same hair as Harry.  It doesn’t look cute and windswept on a girl either.”  Charlie laughed uproariously.  “It took months before it would sit flat.”

 

“Now, she won’t get it cut past mid-back,” Charlie supplied affectionately.

 

Bill was shaking his head and smiling.  “So, how did Miss Ginny afford this new look?”

 

“Oh, it was all free,” Ginny said happily.  “Adrianna has this little Muggle piece of plastic; we didn’t have to pay for anything!”

 

“You mean a credit card?”  Charlie laughed.  “That’s not exactly free.”

 

“It is when it’s my MIA credit card,” Adrianna supplied.  “Free for us, anyway.”

 

“So, you paid for it?”  Bill asked.

 

“No, the American government paid for it.  Don’t worry they won’t even notice.”  She leaned over and looked at Ginny in a conspiratory way.  “Though we should probably tell your mother that we used the money you got from Sirius, just so there’s no trouble.”

 

George gasped in mock shock.  “Did you just ask our baby sister to lie to our dear Mum?”

 

“Oh, we couldn’t possibly keep a secret from our Mummy,” Fred joined in.

 

“Watch out blokes,” Bill warned.  “That is not a game you want to play with Adrianna.  She can read your minds, remember? Besides, we might all want to take a pact that nothing that happens tonight leaves this room.”  He opened up the box revealing more then a dozen bottles of wine.  He pulled one out and handed it to Adrianna.

 

She took it and smirked.  “Cheap wine?” She looked over at the cases.  “Lots and lots of cheep wine.  How many people are coming to this thing?”

 

“A right few,” Bill said with a grin sitting and propping his feet up.  “Pretty much every member of the Order under the age of thirty-five, as long as they don’t have a family, that is.”

 

“Except, of course for the ones my age?”  Ginny asked sarcastically.

 

“Ginny-Doll, people your age aren’t allowed to be in the Order,” Bill said sweetly, causing her to bristle.  “Anyway, the wine won’t be cheap, once Adrianna is through with it.”

 

Adrianna watched Bill intently, then shook her head with a smile.  “So, that’s what this is all about.  You want to recreate the old days…when we used to party until dawn?”

 

Bill grinned unabashedly, “What’s so wrong with that?  You know you want to.”

 

‘Drana frowned.  “We’re too old for that….It’s been…”

 

“Three years,” Charlie supplied and shared a sad gaze with Adrianna.  There was longing in it, for both of them.

 

“More than that,” she said softly.

 

Bill pulled his feet down and walked over behind Adrianna, massaging her shoulders, as he whispered in her ear.  “Come on… you know you want to.”  Charlie shot them a look of controlled jealous rage.  Adrianna closed her eyes and rolled her neck forward, she looked at the bottle of wine with a look almost akin to lust. “You know how much you _love_ good wine,” Bill added persuasively.

 

“Bit wild in the old days?”  Fred asked her with interest.

           

Adrianna gave a short laugh, “You have no idea.”  She held the bottle.  “I was practically an alcoholic.”

 

Harry’s eyes shot to her in concern.

 

“Practically,” she reassured.  “Alcohol makes all those pesky voices go away.”

 

Before anyone could comment, Charlie inserted, “It dampens her powers.  Sometimes I was surprised she didn’t drink every day.  We only drank post mission.”  He had a far away look.  Did he not realize what he had just given away?  Harry shared a glance with Ginny, who had also caught Charlie’s slip of the tongue.  Post mission, huh?  Charlie turned to Adrianna with a private, affectionate smile, “Remember Malian.”

 

‘Drana sighed dreamily and wrapped her hands around the bottle.  “I remember.  _Cambi Lalimento.”_ The bottle changed shape and color.

 

“That’s my girl,” Bill announced, earning another look of ire from his brother.

 

“That’s quite a trick,” George commented as Adrianna went through bottle after bottle of wine, changing each one.

 

Harry looked over at Ginny again, who seemed to be trying to avoid his gaze.  She was probably mad that he hadn’t said anything to her yet.  Probably thought they were still fighting.  He hated it when he was rowing with his friends.  He needed to say something to her. “Ginny,” he whispered, urgently.  He had to repeat her name twice before she finally turned to look at him.

 

When she did, he lost his voice again.  She just looked so different.  Crap, he was in trouble.

 

“Yes, Harry?” she said softly.

 

“Er…er…Happy Birthday?”

 

She looked disappointed.  “Thanks.”  She turned back to the others.   Shite, he had messed up.  What had he done wrong?

 

Bill was passing around glasses of freshly poured wine.  Fred was about to take a sip, when Adrianna called out.  “Wait, you forgot the _Esthrikia_.”  Bill and Charlie sent her guilty looks.  “You do have _Esthrikia._ Because given the present sate of affairs and the fact that we are chaperoning a teenager’s birthday party it would be insanely irresponsible to go without it.”

 

“We don’t have _Esthrikia_ in England, ‘Dran,” Bill explained.

 

She looked pointedly at Charlie.  “I ran out.  Besides I knew you’d have some.”

 

Her frown deepened. “You can still _make_ it in Britain.”  She shook her head as she grabbed for her purse and pulled out a vial.

 

“The ingredients are too expensive to be messing around with,” Charlie said in an almost whining tone.

 

She stopped and stared at him.  “How do you survive without me?”  His face fell and he went to get up.  She grabbed his hand.  “Sorry, Charlie, that was out of line,” she apologized softly.  He nodded but refused to meet her gaze.  Adrianna opened the vial and placed a finger under his chin.  “Here, open up.”

 

Their eyes met as Charlie opened his mouth and Adrianna placed a drop of liquid on his tongue.  Tension crackled between them, before Adrianna finally and almost reluctantly tore her gaze away.  “Ok, everyone know how this works?”  The confused glances told her otherwise.  “Guess not.  One drop of _Esthrikia_ on your tongue.  You drink as much as you want.  Should a dangerous situation arise you say the incantation _Esthrikia_ and you are stone cold sober.  No wand necessary. Learn the word now, because after I take a drop I can’t say it.  Once the word is said you can’t get drunk for more than twenty-four hours.”

           

Once all the adults, and Harry used the word ‘adults’ loosely, had gotten a drop, Ginny leaned forward and grinned wickedly.  Harry’s mouth went dry at the view that was created when she did that.  “Don’t we get some?  I _am_ the birthday girl.”

 

“Sounds reasonable to me,” Fred said already downing his second glass of wine.  “This bloody fantastic stuff, ‘Dran.”

 

Adrianna ignored the last part.  “Well, that’s why you aren’t chaperoning, Fred.  Sorry, Ginny, you four are going to have to survive on that natural, teenage high.”

 

Ginny frowned.  “Fine then, I’m going to go get dressed for _my_ party.”

 

She had a _better_ dress for the party?  Shite, Harry _was_ in trouble.

 

 

 

 

* * * * *

           

 

 

All things considered, Hermione had a pretty great day.  The farther they got from Grimmauld Place the calmer and more relaxed she had felt.  It was ironic how a day spent being uncharacteristically…well, girly, had made her feel more like herself than she had in ages.

 

It was so nice to get into the fresh air and forget about magic and death and her pseudo relationship and to just have fun.  Odd concept for her, fun.  Her mother would scoff at the idea of wasting time getting one’s hair done and buying new clothes.  But it made Hermione feel…feminine.  Good.

 

As she sat there as Antonio revealing her new hair, with its mass of silky ringlets cascading down her back, Adrianna had stood behind her and asked, “Tell me now that you’re plain?”  In the moment Hermione couldn’t honestly say she was.  She had actually felt beautiful.  She knew that it was fleeting and it would take more than one hair cut to transform sixteen years worth of insecurities, but she felt wonderful all the same.

 

Then they went shopping and when Hermione self-consciously undressed for the first time, Adrianna had gasped in shock.  “Damn, Hermione, no wonder you feel like a little girl, you’re wearing a little girl’s bra.  Do you even own an underwire?”

 

Despite Hermione’s protests about how uncomfortable those bras must be, she was unceremoniously dragged to the lingerie shop where she spent the next humiliating hour and a half  being poked, prodded, and measured for a “more appropriate bra.”  Soon, she was standing there in a simple pink satin unwire bra, with matching knickers, her breast swelling nicely over the tops and she realized she _did_ have curves.  Wow.

 

“Little girls do _not_ wear this cup size, Hermione,” Adrianna had teased, making her smile. 

 

She stared at herself in the mirror of the simple Muggle shop and she imagined what Ron would think if he saw her like this.  Hermione knew that she should be doing this for herself and not thinking about Ron, but somehow the image of him cupping her in _this_ bra wouldn’t go away.  The thought raised such a longing in her that her own hands started towards her breasts unconsciously.  When she realized what she was doing, she pretended she was going to adjust the straps and looked down to hide the color coursing across her cheeks.  

 

Adrianna had insisted on buying far more than Hermione needed, carelessly putting on her expense account.  Hermione knew she should protest…Ginny might not get the concept of a credit card, but Hermione did. She was just having too much fun to care.

 

Riding back on the Tube to Grimmauld Place Hermione realized she had never addressed the greater issues with Adrianna.  The things that she had hoped to talk to her about in the first place were still unmentioned by either of them.  She hadn’t asked her about these crazy overpowering feelings that besieged her every time Ron touched her…hell, every time he was in the room at this point.  She had not talked about how she felt mental and out of control, how she kept doing things…sexually…that she wouldn’t have thought in her character to do.  How she worried that Ron thought she was a _scarlet_ _woman_.

 

Though…after today, Hermione realized that it was she, Hermione, who thought she was a scarlet woman.  There was no evidence that Ron was anything but thrilled with her…assertiveness.

 

So, why after spending over eight hours with someone Hermione knew could answer her questions had she said nothing?  Was it just too embarrassing?  Too intimate for her and Adrianna’s delicate relationship?  Was it Ginny, who had been sweet and innocent, and so happy to spend her birthday being pampered and made beautiful?  Hermione really didn’t want to ruin it for her.  Or was that just an excuse? Maybe Hermione was afraid of the answers to the questions. 

 

The irony was, Hermione was sure that Adrianna knew exactly what questions plagued her.  The farther they had traveled from home, the clearer Adrianna’s thoughts seemed to become.  She relaxed and lost the pained look on her face.  It became clear to Hermione that she was effortlessly reading everyone around them.  The shop girl, the little boy on the street, the old man on the Tube, and, yes, it was crystal clear that she was reading her and Ginny.  She even answered questions before they were asked.

 

It was amazing really that in the middle of a city of millions, surround by a thousand people with complex fears, hatreds, and loves, that Empath could navigate them all with calm, consummate skill.  But faced with spending time with one Charles Weasley she completely fell apart and lost all control.  They had more in common than Hermione realized.

 

So, why wasn’t Adrianna bringing up the burning issues?  That _was_ the question.  Hermione suspected that she was giving her time to ask them herself.  She wasn’t sure if she was grateful or disappointed.

 

Before she knew it, they were on the front steps of Grimmauld Place and all the joy of the day abruptly dissipated, leaving only anxiety.  Oh God, she wasn’t ready to see Ron yet.

 

As they walked in the front door, voices sounded from the kitchen below indicating that Weasleys had already begun to arrive for the party.  Ginny was already half way up the stairs with her bags excitedly gripped in her hands.

 

“I’m going to go check on Harry and show the boys the things we got them,” Adrianna called.  Hermione nodded and met her intense gaze before following Ginny.  The gaze was an offering, an opportunity to get everything of her chest.  Hermione smiled gratefully, but somehow couldn’t bring herself to take the gift.  She ran after Ginny, needing to put another floor between her and Ron Weasley.

 

Upstairs, in their room, Ginny was excitedly primping in front of the mirror, basking in the compliments that it gave her.  She truly looked wonderful, the new haircut and dress suiting her perfectly.  If Harry didn’t notice her now, he never would.  Hell, if Harry didn’t notice her now, then he was probably gay.

 

Ginny turned to Hermione with a nervous sigh and a smile. “Ready?” she asked.

 

Hermione smiled encouragingly.  “You go.  Give me a minute.’

 

Ginny nodded and disappeared down the stairs. Hermione carefully laid her bags on the bed. She had been too self-conscious to wear any of her new purchases home.  Save of course, for her new bra.  Adrianna had insisted they bin the old one.

 

Hermione walked over to the mirror and gazed at her new reflection.

 

“My, dear, don’t we look splendid,” the mirror commented.  “Finally did something with that mess of hair, I see.”

 

“Yeah,” Hermione murmured absently, running her fingers through the strands, amazed at how easily they went through.  She imagined Ron running his hand through her curls… she wanted to feel his touch so bad.  It had been two days….two days since he had touched her.

 

She needed to gather herself together.  She was going to have to go downstairs and face Ron sometime.  She needed to be thinking rationally.  Her goals hadn’t changed, she still loved him, and she still wanted him as a boyfriend.  Heavens, even with everything that had happened she wanted him more today than she had yesterday.

 

It wasn’t that her plan was going badly, per se.  It was just that it was going rather _quickly_ …. rather like a run away hippogriff.  But that didn’t mean that it wasn’t _working_. 

 

Adrianna had been right; all the insecurities she had been feeling came from her, not Ron.  He had been acting pretty much the same.  It was clear he wanted her; she had had her hand around the evidence, for heaven’s sake.

 

And the porn thing…well, she’d just have to convince him that he wanted her _more_ than the trollops in the magazines, that a flesh and blood woman was much better.  That she was much better.  Fight for him…wasn’t that the plan?  Locking him out of her room and refusing to speak to him really wasn’t going to accomplish her goals.

 

More deep breaths.  She needed to go down to the kitchen and join the group.  She would smile at Ron and sit next to him, to show him she wasn’t mad any more.  He would tell her she was pretty and she would ask about his hand…then they would go back to normal.  Hopefully, with some snogging in the near future.  _Controlled_ snogging that was.

 

And soon, she’d find the courage to ask for more advice from Adrianna.

 

Hermione slowly made her way into the hallway and down the stairs.  Her breath caught as she saw that Ron was waiting for her in the foyer.  He wasn’t supposed to be there…alone.  He was supposed to be downstairs with his family, surrounded by the necessary buffers.

 

Ron stared at her intensely, his eyes traveling over every part of her.  She felt herself flush.  How she hoped he liked what he saw.

 

“Oh, thank God!” he cried.

 

 Thank God what?  Thank God she finally came downstairs?  Thank God, she didn’t look like a freak?  Thank God she hadn’t been killed by Death Eaters?  What? “Thank God?” she asked.

 

The closer she got to him the more her heart pounded. His angry expression wasn’t helping matters any.  He wasn’t supposed to be here.  He was supposed to be downstairs. She _needed_ to go downstairs.

 

“Oh no, you don’t.”  Ron grabbed her arm, pulling her into the ballroom.  She went limp with surprise and the heat of his hand on her. Once safely in the room he turned to her angrily. “What the hell were you thinking running away and getting a bloody _makeover_!”

 

He didn’t like it.  Disappointment threatened to drown her.  Hermione turned to her old friend anger to get her through this.  “I was thinking that I needed to get away from _you_.”

 

Ok, maybe that was a bit too harsh. He reeled as she actually punched him.  He didn’t let go of her arm, however. He just gripped it harder.

 

“You needed to get away from me so bad that you went traipsing around London with the woman you despise…”

 

“I don’t despise her…” she defended.

 

“Since when?”

 

“Since _now_ ,” she yelled back.

 

He laughed mockingly.  “So it takes one day and a new haircut to trust her.  Then all of a sudden, you’re a different person.  The kind of person who spends all day worried about her _looks_ ,” he accused.

 

That hurt.  “What’s wrong with caring about how I look once in a while?”

 

“Because it’s not _you_.  You’re not a…a Goddamned girl!”

 

Tears did come to her eyes at that.  “I beg your pardon, Ronald, but I happen to be exactly that, a girl.  And considering you’ve had your hands all over me for the last week, I really would have hoped that you had noticed by now,” she hissed angrily. 

 

Hermione tried to pull away but he just grabbed her other arm and hauled her against him. “That’s not what I meant and you know it.  I _know_ you’re a girl.”  He was staring at her newly molded chest as it pressed against him, as if to illustrate his point.

 

“Then, what did you mean, Ron?  That I’m not girl _enough_?  Not like the girls in those pictures you like so much?”

 

“Stop being daft,” he bellowed into her face.  “Those pictures have nothing to do with what I… how I feel…about your womanliness.  I’m a sixteen year old boy.  They were sex pictures. I was curious. Did you really think I could _not_ look?  Anyone would look, Hermione.  Stop being so stupid about it.”

 

If he insulted her intelligence one more time….  “So now I’m stupid and not a girl, no wonder I’m not good enough….”  She broke off, scared at what she was about to say.  Panting rapidly as he held her tightly against him, she felt the heat of his breath against her face.

 

“Good enough for what, Hermione?  Tell me.  I can’t fix it if you don’t tell me,” he demanded of her fiercely, half angry, half pleading.

 

She couldn’t tell him.  She couldn’t say that she wanted him to love her, to be in a _real_ relationship with her.  Not like this.  Not in the middle of a row.  Hermione shook her head.

 

Ron’s hands tightened around her arms, almost as if he were fighting the urge to shake her.  “Damn you, Hermione! Just tell me!”

 

The sound of multiple voices came waffling up the stairs.  Hermione heard Charlie ask, “So, how do you want the ballroom set up?”

 

Ron let go of her abruptly and she stumbled back, turning away from him, her arms crossed tightly over her chest.

 

“Are we interrupting something?” George asked.

 

“No,” Ron snapped.

 

Hermione felt Adrianna’s arm come around her and lead her to the stairs.  “Hermione, why don’t you go with Ginny and get ready for the party?  Just relax a bit.”

 

Hermione  nodded and keeping her face turned away as she was lead back to the stairs.  Adrianna leaned into her and whispered, “You’re not crazy.  I’m here when you’re ready to talk about it.”  She smiled up at the older girl gratefully before running up the stairs and back into the safety of her room.

 

 

 

 

* * * * *

 

 


	26. Happy Birthday

Ginny couldn’t imagine a birthday party that was _less_ about her birthday.  It was far worse then she had ever imagined it would be.  She had figured it would be a boring get-together with her siblings and their significant others.  They would make jokes about the “baby growing up” and she would spend most of the night with Harry, Ron and Hermione.  

            But, no, half the Order was here, having a roaring good time.  Ron and Hermione weren’t speaking to each other.  Harry wasn’t speaking to her….well, technically, she wasn’t speaking to Harry, but she wasn’t in the mood for technicalities _or_ Harry Potter.  At least not until he apologized, which he was sure _not_ to do, since it was quite clear that he had no idea why she was so angry with him.  

            There were, after all, so many slights to account for. For example, his incredible rudeness last night, when he had raised her hopes about the watch then decided “it was better” that they didn’t touch it at all.  And the way he completely _ignored_ her feelings on the matter. The nasty way he had greeted her this morning, completely forgetting it was her birthday, just added insult to injury.  Though she wasn’t sure why she thought _he_ should remember when everyone else forgot.  Even at her own party, no one seemed to remember.

            However, the thing that pissed her off, the thing she couldn’t admit and couldn’t forgive was the way he had stayed utterly silent when she had returned home this afternoon.  Just one word about how nice she looked and every thing else would be forgotten.  But she had not even received a hello…. sure, she got a belated and halfhearted “happy birthday”, but only after he realized how angry she was at him.

            It was all Ginny’s fault anyway; she should not have expected anything more from him.  Why did she ever think Harry Potter was going to notice her as an actual girl…no, she had wanted him to notice her as a woman.  It would have made this whole night wonderful.  Glutton for punishment, that’s what _she_ was.

            Ginny and Hermione sat huddled in a dark corner in one of the multiple sofas that had been dug up for the party and placed in clusters around the impressively decorated ballroom.  Apparently, you can to do almost anything with magic; because once Adrianna and her older siblings had set their mind to it, the room had been completely transformed in less than an hour. 

             Fat lot of good it did her, she thought, as she and Hermione occasionally shot bitter comments to each other and shot glares at the boys who were as far away on the other side of the room as they could get, with the twins and their girlfriends, reliving their Quidditch glory days.

            “We should really do something,” she said, tearing her eyes away from Harry in the splendid new outfit Adrianna had bought him to look at her friend.

            Hermione looked at her with a completely dejected expression. “Do what?”

            She looked more beautiful than Ginny had ever seen her, more beautiful than at the Yule Ball, in her pale pink skirt and shimmery soft top.  Adriana had piled her curls on the top of her head to make her feel better.  Clearly it hadn’t worked.  The fact that she looked beautiful made their current dejected state even more pathetic.  Ginny looked down at her own brand new dress.  They really were pitiful.

            “I don’t know.  Talk to some one.  Dance.  Steal a couple bottles of wine and hide upstairs and drink them all.” She threw Hermione a wicked grin and was rewarded with her first laugh of the night.

            “Hey there, life of the party, how are you two doing?”  

            Ginny looked up as Adrianna came over and threw herself into a comfy armchair across for them with a large grin.  She, at least, seemed to be having fun.  Even her arguments with Charlie seemed more flirtatious than angry tonight, which was probably due to the tell-tale alcohol induced glaze over her eyes.  Stealing those bottles of wine was looking better by the minute.

            “You two ready to have some actual fun?”  ‘Drana asked with a wicked glint in her eye, making Ginny smile in interest.  “Guess who just showed up with his little _flower_?”

            Ginny sat up straighter.  She had forgotten about their little plan.  Well, this was certainly what this party needed right about now.  She stood up with Adrianna.  Hermione stayed behind, looking up at them skeptically.  Ginny went back over to her and hauled her up by her elbow.  “Come on!  No more brooding over my stupid brother!”

            “Amen,” Adrianna called out joyfully as she led them through the crowd of people to the foyer.

            At the top of the kitchen stairs Bill stood with his arms casually around Fleur’s shoulders.  She was dressed splendidly in the finest dress robes.  She was just about the only one at the party not in Muggle clothing.  Her white hair shimmered in the magically illuminated room.

            Bill smiled when he saw them, which was rather daft of him, Ginny thought.  Didn’t he know what was coming, or had he had far too much wine already?  “Eh, Fleur over here, I wanted you to meet someone.”  The idiot led her _right into_ the lions den.  None of Ginny’s brothers had much sense tonight.  “Fleur, you know my sister, Ginny, and her friend, Hermione.”

“Ooh, yes, off course,” she said loftily, with her chin tilted high.  “We ‘ave met, ze Yule Ball, az I recall.  You went to ze Ball with Viktor.”  Her words were benign but her tone condescending, as if not only Ginny and Hermione, but the duck-footed star Quidditch player were far beneath her notice.  Ginny felt Hermione bristle and kept her hand firmly around her friend’s forearm.

            “And this is the one I’ve been telling you about, Adrianna,” Bill introduced her fondly.  Whatever was he playing at? Ginny wondered.

            Fleur gave her boyfriend a subtly angry glance; she at least seemed aware of the tension in the situation.  “So nice to meet you,” she said with thinly disguised distaste.

            “The pleasure is all mine,” Adrianna said with an apparently innocent warmth.  She was a far better actress than Fleur and expended her hand, which the willowy girl took with careful hesitation.  They maintained that lovely eye contact Adrianna was so good at.

            Bill was smiling happily, but shot Fleur an annoyed look when she pulled her hand away from Adrianna as if she had just touched muck.  “So, you are zey _américaine_?” 

            Ah, the gauntlet was down.  Very stupid little flower.  “Yup, it’s so nice of you to come, Fleur.  I know Ginny was worried that she wouldn’t have anyone here her age,” Adrianna commented.  Only those who knew her well would sense the aggression in her posture.   

            Fleur smiled an ugly smile.  “Yes, William ‘az told me about your leetle joke.” 

            “Joke?”  ‘Drana gave her best confused look.  “Can we get you something to drink?  Pumpkin juice, perhaps?”

            “I would love zum champagne.”

            “Oh, yes I forgot how young you start drinking in your country.”  Charlie seemed to have noticed the conversation and was rapidly approaching them.  ‘Drana sped up her assault as soon as she spotted him headed their way.  She laid a familiar hand on Bill’s arm.  A hand he didn’t seem to mind at all.  “Our Bill talks about you all the time.  Well, sometimes that is.  You know, Bill and I have known each other for ages.  My goodness, you were probably in primary school when we met.”

            Bill laughed and put an obviously drunken hand on ‘Drana’s shoulder.  “You make us sound positively ancient, ‘Dran.”

            “Aren’t we?” she joked.

              “Well, you do look a leetle worn aroun’ zey edgez,” Fleur commented, making Bill laugh.  Was he enjoying them fighting over him?  _Were_ they fighting over him?

            The look on Charlie’s face as he came near and stood possessively close to Adrianna indicated that he thought so.

            “Lines of experience,” Adrianna said brightly, with no evidence of offence taken.  “Bill and I have had lots of experiences together, haven’t we?”

            Fleur gasped.  “William,” she snapped, “I would like to talk to you for a moment.”  She roughly grabbed him and pulled him away.

            Adrianna turned to Ginny with a look of such glee that she was positively bouncing.  Ginny let out the giggles she had been holding in.  She even thought she heard a few spill from Hermione.  

            “What are you playing at, ‘Drana?” Charlie whispered into her ear.

            She smiled up at him flirtatiously.  “Just havin’ a little fun.”

            He growled, at which she seemed to almost sway toward him with a defiant look in her eyes.  “You’re playing with fire,” he commented.

            “I like fire.”

            Over by the door, Fleur was hissing at Bill in French and he was looking at her with a wide-eyed, innocent expression.  Scratch that, a _drunken,_ wide-eyed, innocent expression.

            The door next to them opened and Remus and Tonks walked in, heading straight towards them.  Remus smiled warmly at Ginny, “I believe birthday wishes are in order.”

            Bill developed a panicked expression at the sight of them and left Fleur mid-sentence, rushing over to them.  “Remus?  What are you doing here?”

            “I do live here,” the older man said with amusement.

            “You’re not going to tell Mum?” the oldest Weasley brother burst out, making Ginny giggle.

            “See, ‘Drana,” Charlie commented sardonically.  “Bill and Fleur are actually well suited age wise.”

            Bill shot him an evil look, then grabbed Remus’ arm.  “Come on, join the party.  Let’s get you some wine.”  He hauled the ex-professor off.

            Remus looked back at them with an amused expression.

            “We hadn’t actually been planning on staying,” Tonks commented with a wry smile.

            An odd look overcame Adrianna’s face and she looked at Tonks as if she were a mystery to be solved.  “Do I know you?” she asked.

            “We met last week when you arrived…”

            “Yes, of course, Tonks?  Do you have another name?”  Before  Tonks had a chance to respond, a huge smile came over Adrianna’s face.  “You went to school with Bill, didn’t you?  He called you Dora then.”

            A look of shock came over Tonks, and she sputtered, ‘Um…yeah.”

            Adrianna approached her and placed a hand on her arm.  “You _must_ stay,” she said commandingly, with a sideways glance at Fleur.  “We have so much to discuss.”  Tonks followed her gaze and a look of revulsion came over her.  

            The two women shared a long look.  “Yes, I think I will stay, after all,” Tonks smiled at Adrianna.

            Bill and Remus came back over with a bottle of cheap wine, which Bill handed to ‘Drana.  “Good news, Tonks here has agreed to stay,” she told him sweetly.  The heated look Bill shot her could have ignited the building, but it just made Adrianna smile as she placed her fingertips on Remus’ cheek.  “Burgundy then?” she said as she transformed the wine bottle before handing it back to Bill.

            “That is good news,” Bill finally said, glancing quickly at Tonks.  From the corner Fleur shot them an angry glance, determinedly huffing by them as she purposefully went over to a group of young male wizards and turned on the charm.  Bill looked over at her with a frown, but didn’t go after her, instead opening wine and pouring it out for his two new guests.

            Adrianna was smiling happily at the state of affairs, when Charlie wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her aside.  “Watch yourself ‘Drana,” he warned.

            She closed her eyes at his embrace and seemed to melt into him, “Relax Charlie, it’s all under control.” she whispered, finally opening her eyes to look up at him.  

            Looking around and sharing a glance with Hermione, Ginny was sure the last thing it was, was under control.

            Oh, well it might be a piss poor birthday party, but the entertainment was spectacular.

                                                                        * * * * * *

            Harry wouldn’t have believed it possible, but he was actually having a worse time at Ginny’s birthday party than he had had at the Yule Ball.  Among the similarities were the facts that Hermione looked incredible and Ron refused to do anything but glare menacingly at her.  Beyond that, there was the fact that Harry was just as miserable…

            Chief among the reasons…Ginny wouldn’t speak to him.  Hell, she wouldn’t even look at him.  He wasn’t exactly sure what he had done either, though he had a niggling suspicion that he had fucked up big time.  He just wished he understood how, because then he might be able to do something about it.

            He should probably just apologize….make it nonspecific.  The longer he avoided her, the angrier she’d probably get.  Girls generally worked that way.  At least that’s the way Hermione was when she wasn’t speaking to Ron.  

            The problem of what to say was complicated by the fact that he suddenly seemed incapable of saying _anything_ anytime he was near her.  What was with that dress anyway?  Ron said it was indecent and he was right.  Thankfully, her _boyfriend_ wasn’t here to ogle her.  Wasn’t there a rule about fifteen-year-olds wearing little black dresses?  If there wasn’t, then there should be.  Or one about redheads wearing black dresses, making her hair shine so bright it hurt the eyes.  How did she bloody well expect him to be able to complete a sentence, not to mention talk himself out of trouble?

            So instead, Harry babysat Ron.  At least at the Yule Ball Ron spoke. Tonight he wouldn’t even respond to the twins’ teasing.  They made three consecutive cracks about Hermione…good ones too, and all Ron responded with was “Huh?”  Finally, they gave up and largely ignored him.  Harry tried to participate in the Quidditch talk that was now surrounding him, but like Ron, his eyes kept being drawn across the room.

            And why wouldn’t they be?  It was clear that that was where all the action was.  

            When Adrianna had first started in with Fleur, Harry had thought it the perfect opportunity to go over and inconspicuously join their friends.  It would be as though they were going to talk to Bill and Adrianna, _not_ Ginny and Hermione.  They could act as if nothing was wrong and just perhaps get back on speaking terms again.

            But Ron wasn’t budging.  “Are you mental?” he’d said.  “No way am I going near Fleur.  I’m in enough trouble as it is.” 

So they sat.  Harry tried to tell himself that he was too good a friend to abandon Ron, but truth was he didn’t have the courage to carry out his plan on his own.

            They watched the action from a distance and tried to pretend they were enjoying themselves.  The girls sure seemed to be, or at least they were less miserable than he and Ron.

            Currently, Ginny and Hermione were huddled on a couch with Adrianna and Tonks, laughing and throwing glances at Fleur, who was making her way around the room trying to seduce every man in it, or so it appeared.  To Bill’s credit…or discredit depending on whose side you were on, he didn’t seem to be bothered at all by Fleur’s antics.  He _did,_ however, seem quite bothered by the foursome in the corner.

            Harry wondered if every man in the room was secretly staring at the four women.

            The biggest irony of the night came when Fleur approached them to make her ‘rounds.’  While Harry had been fighting off the affects of her veela powers and the desire that overcame him, Ron hadn’t even noticed that she was near.  So much for Ron’s fears.  Fleur hadn’t stayed long, anyway.  Angelina and Alicia tore into her good and she huffed off for easier prey.

            “Harry, mind if I sit with you?”  Harry looked up to see his old professor smiling down kindly at him, a bottle of wine clutched in his hand.  Was Remus Lupin _swaying_?  Could this night get any stranger?

            “Sure, professor…er, Remus,” Harry stammered as he sat next to him.

            “What you got there?” Fred asked in an amused tone, his equally wine glazed eyes taking in the older man’s dazed look.

            Remus held up the bottle.  “This… I believe, is your brother’s way of bribing me not to tell your mother about this little bash.” He gave them a wry smile.  “I must say, Adrianna certainly does good work.  Best I’ve ever had.”

            “Strong, too,” Alicia threw in merrily.

            “That it is, that it is,” Remus said, lounging back on the sofa with a smile.  Was everyone having fun but Harry and Ron?

            “You wouldn’t tell on us would you?” George questioned in a teasing tone.

            “Nah,” Remus shook his head.  “Far too little fun in our lives, don’t you think?”  He raised his bottle, to which they all yelled “Cheers!” and drank deeply. 

            Maybe Harry needed to get his hands on some of that wine.  Another hour and no one would know the difference if he and Ron drank an entire case.

            “Speaking of fun,” Remus turned to Harry.  “You two certainly don’t seem to be having any.”

            “I’m having fun,” Harry denied and gave his best imitation of a smile.

            “Uh huh.”

            “Well, in our best estimation, the problem is…”  George explained.  

            “Harry doesn’t know how to have fun.” Fred finished.

            Hey!  That was…. absolutely untrue….for the most part?”

            “As for little Ronnikins…he’s pining,” continued George.

            “For the lovely vision in pink taffeta…” Fred said.

            “Chiffon,” Alicia corrected.

            “Whatever, he’s done nothing but glower at her all evening.”  Fred shook his head.  

“Are you sure you mean ‘glower,’ Fred?  I think it’s more like staring morosely, don’t you think?” his twin asked.

“That’s true, George, I do suppose it’s more of a melancholy stepped on puppy look…. Isn’t that right, Ron?” 

            Ron glanced up at them.  “Huh?”

            “Exactly so,” Fred shook his head in disgust.

            “Never seen a sorrier creature….” George persisted with his belittling of his younger brother, but Harry’s eyes had been drawn to Hermione as they mentioned her…. and now they lingered on the interesting side of the room.  Charlie and Bill had joined the girls and there seemed to be a bit more action brewing. 

Harry hoped Ginny forgave him soon so he could find out exactly what the hell was going on.

                                                            * * * * *

            Hermione did her best to ignore Ron, as he _so inconspicuously_ stared at them from across the room.  She even thought that she was doing an admirable job of it.  

Matters had improved immensely after Adrianna came to rescue her and Ginny from their collective mope to join in on the Fleur bashing fun.  Hermione wasn’t generally one to endorse fun at the expense of others, but Fleur was a special case.

            Now, sitting with Ginny, Adrianna, and Tonks, Hermione was almost enjoying herself.  Almost.  If anything was going to cheer her up tonight it was verbally tearing apart Fleur, with a healthy dose of ridiculing men in general, and Weasley men in particular, with a little bit of Harry mixed in for Ginny’s benefit.  Hermione actually laughed several times, though she mostly listened.

            Ginny was in rare form, as no one had more dirt on the Weasley men, often throwing the older witches into hysterics.  As for Tonks and Adrianna, they certainly held their own with merrily biting comments.  Adrianna kept Tonks’ wine glass full, until she, too, had that glazed look in her eyes.

            It seemed that practically everyone in the room had that look…and they were all having a roaring good time.  Hermione was ashamed to say that she had seriously considered Ginny’s joking suggestion that they sneak off and _experiment_ themselves.  Only they wouldn’t have to steal any wine, not with that bottle of Firewhiskey in the bottom of Hermione’s trunk.

            Hermione frowned when the eldest Weasley boys came over to invade their little group.  She did not have the desire to be around any of the male species at the moment…. And, if she was perfectly honest, being part of a group of girls was something Hermione had never really had the pleasure of indulging in before.  She wasn’t ready to give it up.

            But Bill and Charlie weren’t stupid enough to allow them to go on complaining about them for long…unlike two other males she could think of who seemed to be _plenty_ stupid enough.  Or maybe it was just that Bill and Charlie both seemed to be drawn to Adrianna like a moth to the flame.  They just couldn’t leave her alone.

            Not that Hermione could blame them.  Adrianna was quite vivacious when tipsy.  All the cold hardness that usually surrounded her, the air of ‘I’m important and have important matters to deal with’ fell away and all that was left was life and energy.  Even as she blatantly, happily, insulted him, Charlie looked at her as if she was the sun itself.  Hermione wondered if she would be an enjoyable drunk.  Would she be relaxed and effervescent?  Would it make Ron look at her like that?

            Hermione lost the battle to keep her eyes from wandering across the room where Ron and Harry were _pretending_ to have fun.  The crowd had thickened and music started.  A group of people was now dancing in the center of the ballroom, but it was still easy to find them.

Hermione didn’t know who they thought they were fooling, but they weren’t fooling her.  She knew Ron was staring at her…glaring more accurately… moping, brooding, glowering, and glaring.  

Just like at the Yule Ball.  What did he want from her?  Back then, she had been so sure that his miserable glare had meant that he was jealous and wanted her…at least on some level.  It had given her enough hope to last a year and half of mixed signals and shy avoidance.  And now?  Now, she had no idea what to think anymore.

            Not after their last argument.  Ron actually said that she wasn’t a girl.  It was so absurd.  One would think that he was over that by now…especially since he had been groping her breasts less than forty-eight hours before.  She couldn’t express how much it hurt and didn’t want to admit the sting she felt over his dislike over her new look.

            Yet now, Ron did nothing but stare at her.  It was all so confusing. Then there was the look in his eyes when he had demanded she tell him what she needed from him, demanded that she let him fix it.  She couldn’t help but wonder what would have happened if she had just told him she wanted a _real_ relationship.  Would he have fixed it?  If he had, would he have felt trapped?  Would he have been relieved?

            Urgh!  Why wouldn’t Ron just tell her how he felt?  It made her so angry.  The Yule Ball was close to two years ago and he had gained no maturity whatsoever.

            Raised voices and Ginny’s insistent jabbing in her side brought her back from her painful reverie.  Hermione looked at her red headed friend, who gestured toward the older members of the group with bright, curious eyes.

            “Yes, but she sure is beautiful, all that shiny sliver hair,” Tonks was sneering with a pronounced slur.  Hermione frowned; she had missed something.

            Bill was staring at her with singularly focused hatred in his wild alcohol glazed eyes. “But don’t worry, my dearest _Dora_ , you can recreate the look if you like it so much.”

            His words seemed to have a meaning Hermione didn’t understand because Tonks’ eyes lit with rage.  Adrianna must have sensed that she was nearing a breaking point, because the Empath placed a hand on Tonks’ arm and had a frightened look on her face. 

“I’m sure _you’d_ enjoy that,” Tonks countered, “but I prefer something more original.”  

            “Ha!  More attention getting you mean,” Bill shot back meanly.  “Surely you’re not implying that _you_ are original.”

            “Bill!”  Charlie hissed with concern, gripping his brother’s shoulder.

“More original than _that_ blond haired twit, that uses her _powers_ to seduce every man in the vicinity.  But she sure looks good on your arm, doesn’t she, Bill?”  Tonks was standing now.

“Maybe we should…”  Adrianna started, standing with her.

Bill stood as well, using his height to his advantage.  “At least Fleur has enough of an identity to use her own face and her own name… _Tonks_.”

Tonks sputtered for moment before breaking away from the group.  Bill followed her, seemingly intent on finishing their argument. He caught her arm. Hermione didn’t hear the few heated words they exchanged, before Tonks finally pulled away and left the room.

Adrianna went to follow her, but Charlie taught her elbow.  “I’ll go,” he told her with a frown.  “ _You’ve_ caused enough trouble for one night.”

It seemed unduly harsh to Hermione, but Adrianna let him go and just slouched back into the couch.

“Charlie’s a prat,” Ginny declared in a show of feminine unity.

Adrianna smiled.  “Thanks, but he’s also right.” She picked up Tonks’ glass of wine and emptied it into her own.  She quickly downed the entire glass and blinked rapidly, glancing up at Bill as he dejectedly fell into the seat next to her, looking completely miserable.  “I interfered with Dora and I shouldn’t have.  Though, you didn’t have to be so mean,” she told Bill.

He shrugged. “Now you know why we avoid each other.  Neither of us can help but be mean.”

Adrianna looked at him with sad, apologetic eyes.  “I’m sorry Bill, I shouldn’t have…”

He shook his head and placed an arm around her shoulder pulling her close to him.  “It’s all right.  I know what you were doing.  It’s not like I haven’t been trying to do the same thing.”

Adrianna gave a bitter laugh and flopped her head loosely onto his shoulder.

Questions danced in Hermione’s mind, but she stayed silent for fear that they would remember she and Ginny were there and stop the show before they learned too much.  She could tell from the tense way Ginny gripped her thigh that she felt the same.  They waited, hoping that the live drama they were watching would continue to play out.

Hermione was rewarded for her patience.  

“So,” Bill said casually. “Now that our respective exes are off _comforting_ each other…” Adrianna snorted, and Ginny covered an excited gasp.  “How about we have a little fun of our own?”  He smiled at her drunkenly and wagged his eyebrows.

Adrianna smiled and shook her head. “You had better not be suggesting what I think you’re suggesting.”  Bill pulled a blue bottle out of the inside pocket of the jacket he was wearing, causing Adrianna to gasp. “Blue Blaze Bourbon,” she said with awe.  “You didn’t get…”

He smiled broadly producing a brown paper bag.  “I did.”  

Adrianna grasped the edge of the bag and looked inside, giddy excitement coming over her face.  “Bill we couldn’t…” she protested, but her tone told a different story.

            “I had intended it for the four of us, you and Charlie, me and Fleur, but seeing as we’ve been abandoned…” he gestured bitterly over at his flirting floozy of a girlfriend.  “I say… more for us.”

            Adrianna giggled and bit her lip.  “Charlie would kill us…”

            “So, now you’re worried about Charlie?  Come on, you know you want to.”

            She raised an eyebrow.  “And what about your girlfriend?”

            “The one busy seducing half the Order?  She can make her own fun; she certainly doesn’t seem to be having any trouble.”

            Adrianna took and deep breath and nodded. “Ok, but not here…not where _he_ could find us?”

            “Are you mental?  Of course not here,” Bill scoffed.  “We’d have to _share_.”

            “The dining room?  It’s closed off.”  Bill nodded and they both stood, with impressively little staggering.

            “Hey,” Ginny called out abruptly.  “Don’t even think about abandoning us here.”

            “Well, come on then,” Adrianna said hurriedly. “But you are _not_ trying any.  You are far too young.”

            Hermione felt Ginny all but drag her to her feet in her effort to get them to the dining room before Adrianna changed her mind or Bill finally noticed who they were.  Hermione was a little apprehensive, she wasn’t so sure she wanted to see this.

            They scrambled into the dining room, behind the ‘adults,’ and the door was quickly shut and locked behind them. Adrianna waved a wobbly arm and lit all the candles in the room.  Bill pulled out the bottle and bag, conjuring a pair of shot glasses and pouring the blue liquid.  He muttered something over them and a blue flame could be seen in the glass.  

            Hermione shot a look at Ginny who was gazing at the glasses with longing.  “So, what is this stuff?”  Ginny asked bravely, as Adrianna spilled a pile of bright orange berries onto the table.  They resembled blackberries in size and shape, but seemed to have a tough skin, more like a mango.

            “These are flame fruit,” Adrianna said with breathless excitement.  “And you are absolutely _not_ allowed to have any until you are at least seventeen.”

            “Thirty,” Bill corrected.

            Adrianna rolled her eyes and had a fruit in her hand.  “They accentuate the euphoric qualities of alcohol.  Blue Blaze is specifically designed to maximize the results.”  She held up her glass for emphasis.

            “Cheers!”  Bill called, clinking his glass with Adrianna’s.  They simultaneously threw the drink to the back of their throats, wincing at the contact.  “Woo!”  Bill called holding out his wrist to his partner.  She squeezed the fruit, splattering the juice on his wrist.  Hermione’s jaw dropped as Adrianna then grabbed said wrist and proceeded to lap up all the juice.

            Adrianna shook her head and blinked her eyes, starting to giggle uncontrollably.  Bill was looking at her expectantly until she finally held out her wrist and he repeated the process on her hand.

            She was right.  Charlie _was_ going to kill them.

            “Oh my god!” Ginny exclaimed, laughing.  “What the hell was that?”

            “Best bloody stuff in the world,” Bill said happily, pouring two more glasses.

            “Flame fruit is designed, enchanted, whatever… to only work when ingested off the skin of the opposite sex,” Adrianna said between giggles.

            “And it’s not so unpleasant for the person being drunk off of either,” Bill slurred.

            Hermione gasped, “That means it’s made…made to…”  She couldn’t complete her sentence, she was blushing so hard.

            “Encourage fornication?”  Bill said wickedly.  “Fuck, yeah.”

            Hermione again gasped at the harsh language but couldn’t begin to find her voice to reprimand him.

            “Bill! Fornication,” Adrianna scoffed.  “It’s just good, honest fun among friends.”  Bill laughed and threw her a skeptical look.  Adrianna seemed to be trying to draw herself into an intimidating stance but was failing miserably due to her drunken state.  “Hey, you had better not be insinuating anything Mister William Weasley… ‘cause… ‘cause…” She shook an unsteady finger at him.  “Cause you have a girlfriend.”           

            He laughed huskily.  “Come on ‘Dran,” Bill drawled, catching her hand.  “You don’t care about my girlfriend any more than I do.  Fuck her I say… But you know I wouldn’t do that to _him_.  I love him as much as you do… well maybe not quite as much as _you_ do….”

            “What! I do _not_! Shut up.”  Adrianna drunkenly slapped his chest, but she was smiling, clearly having melted to him.  She readily took the next shot he offered her.

            Bill was rolling back his sleeve.  “You gonna tell them the rest?” he prompted shooting Hermione and Ginny a teasing glance.  “Don’t want to shock them.”  He winked at them.  He actually winked at them.  Hermione shuddered just a bit. He then squirted a bit of fruit on the inside of his elbow and she gasped.

            Adrianna nodded, but first took the offered arm and ‘drank’ off the fruit juice.  Another fit of giggles followed.  Ginny laughed aloud with shock and disbelief.  Hermione wrinkled her nose.

            “The best part…” Adrianna managed through her giggles, practically doubling over as Bill laughingly pushed up her sleeve and bared her elbow “The closer the skin is to the heart, the stronger the effects of the flame fruit.”  She gasped as Bill squirted the fruit on her soft skin and pulled it to him roughly, sucking it off.  He threw his head back when he finished and grinned at the ceiling.  

            Bill wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her flush against him.  She smiled up at him.  Hermione’s heart stopped.  Were they going to kiss?  But they wouldn’t…they had just said… Would they?

            “Up for going all the way, love?” Bill asked, their faces close.

            “Oh yeah,” she breathed.

            Oh _no_. 

            He handed her another shot and another berry.  She did the shot and he bared his chest.  Hermione heard a sound of disgust coming from Ginny, as Adrianna squirted the fruit onto the skin above Bill’s heart and quickly licked it off.

            He growled, drinking directly from the bottle.  Adrianna pulled her shirt down, baring cleavage, but thankfully nothing else.  Bill placed the juice atop her left breast and took his time cleaning it off, until Adrianna pushed him off giggling.

            He smiled at her.  “Come on, let’s dance.”  Before the two girls knew what was happening Bill had taken Adrianna’s hand, pulling her out of the dining room and onto the dance floor, still clutching the blue bottle in his free hand.

            Hermione stared after them in shock before she looked back at Ginny, who ran over to the table and filled both her hands with the orange fruit.  “Come on,” she said.  “Now we just need to nick some wine.  You think wine will work?”

            The older girl was frozen.  “Have you lost your mind…?”  Hermione trailed off, feeling her heart rate accelerate.  She swallowed and said quickly, “You think Firewhiskey would work?  I have some in my trunk.”

            Ginny half gasped, half laughed.  “Why Hermione Granger, I am surprised at you!  And I have never been more proud.  Let’s go.”

            “Wait, how is it going to work, we’re both the same sex?”

            Ginny waved her full hand, “I bet that part is just a myth, created by men to seduce women.  We won’t know until we try.”

            Hermione warred with herself.  It was incredibly reckless.  Oh the hell with it!  She wasn’t a prefect here.  She was tired of being boring, plain, safe, Hermione Granger.  She wanted to be a _girl_.  “Ok, let’s do it.”

                                                * * * * *

            There were only two things that Ron could manage to do at the present time, feel miserable and stare at Hermione.  She was so goddamned beautiful.  Too bloody beautiful.  Who did she think she was dressing up for anyway?  Did she look like _that_ to hang around with Ginny and Adrianna?

            Hermione _should_ be with him, Ron thought bitterly.  _They_ should be laughing and joking and enjoying each other, just like it had been a few days ago. But no, instead she was punishing him.  Punishing him with her silence and her heart-stopping loveliness.  What the hell for?  What the fuck had he done to deserve this? Nothing, not a bloody thing.

            Ok, maybe he had been a little harsh this afternoon.  His words got away from him; stupid things came out of his mouth, things that didn’t make sense.  But it just wasn’t fair to hold that against him.  So he had said she wasn’t a girl?  Of course, she was a girl.  She should _know_ that he didn’t mean it that way.  Hadn’t he shown her in a million ways how much of a _girl_ he thought she was?  Hadn’t he told her she was gorgeous?  Hadn’t he practically worshiped her body?  Fuck, she had her hand on the bloody evidence of just how much of a girl he thought she was just two days ago.  When had she become so dammed irrational?

            It made Ron livid, really.  Hermione had promised him.  She promised not to leave him, to tell him what was wrong so they could work things out, so that he could fix it.  How could he make it better if she refused to talk to him?  She had _promised_ , goddamn it.

            Yet, for one mind blowing moment today he had almost thought that Hermione was going to ask him to… That she’d say she wanted to legitimize their farce of a pseudo-relationship.  That she’d say that she actually wanted to be his girlfriend.

            _Girlfriend_ , just the word cut through his heart.  Ron couldn’t believe how much he had wanted it.  If she had just had asked for it…  If Hermione asked, he couldn’t say no.  He had to give her whatever she asked for.  Even if he knew it was wrong, that she was far above him, that it would only end up destroying them completely.  

            But Hermione hadn’t asked.  She had left and now she tortured him from a distance.  She laughed with his brothers and sister and the woman she called her enemy days ago and tortured him with her beauty.

            He wanted to shake her, to lock her in a room and make her talk to him.  The only thing that stopped him was the knowing just where that tactic had led him this afternoon, into worse trouble. 

            Suddenly Ron sat up, startled when Ginny pulled Hermione up and through the dancing crowd.  His narrowed eyes followed them as they disappeared into the dining room, behind his traitor of a brother.  His anger and anxiety increased tenfold.  What did Hermione think she was doing?  She was _at least_ supposed to stay in his sight!

Ron grew increasingly restless, first contemplating the dangers of barging in and dragging her out, then considering all the possible options to get in there, and finally planning _how_ he was going to drag her….

            Bill and Adrianna emerged from the room and went to the dance floor, but Ron didn’t care about them.  His eyes were glued to the cracked door.  Were they going to come out or what?

            Finally, Hermione and Ginny scrambled out and ran up the stairs.

            That was it.  Ron had had enough.  He couldn’t stand any more.  

            As he stood, he heard Harry call, “What are you doing?”  He had to yell as the music that had recently started had grown increasingly loud. When Ron turned he felt as if he hadn’t seen Harry in hours, despite being right next to him.  His friend was looking at him with alarm.

            “I’ve had enough.  I’m going after Ginny and Hermione.  You coming?”

            Harry jumped up eagerly and the two boys made their way, unnoticed, through the loud, undulating crowd.  Ron vaguely noticed Adrianna and Bill dancing a bit close for friends.  It seemed strange, but he didn’t pause, pushing his way to the stairs.

            They found Ginny and Hermione’s door closed.  A simple spell unlocked the door.  No Imperturbable this time, thank god.  The two girls were sitting cross-legged on the floor, their skirts pooling around them. A half dozen candles were lit on the bedside table Hermione had a bottle of Firewhiskey in her hand.  Her face was a mask of surprise and shame as she met Ron’s eyes and quickly looked away.  

            Ginny glared up at them.  “What do you think you’re doing here?”

            “What do you think you are doing with _that_?” her brother countered with a mirthless grin.  Harry shuffled back a bit.

            “Get out,” Ginny barked and turned her face away from them.

            “Sure, I’ll just go down stairs and talk to Adrianna and Bill about what you’re doing up here…”

            Ginny glared up at him, but Ron was carefully watching Hermione’s downward gaze.  She was biting her lip.  Ron was _not_ leaving this room.

            “I doubt they’d even notice,” Ginny smirked.

            “Or… they’ll be really pissed at the interruption.” Ron smiled at her in challenge. Checkmate.

            His sister’s eyes narrowed. “What do you want?”

            “Share,” he demanded, not exactly sure why.

            Hermione cleared her throat. “There isn’t enough,” she said primly as if she weren’t discussing the sharing of a half bottle of Firewhiskey.

            Ron snatched the bottle out of Hermione’s hand and purposely sat next to her.  He tossed the bottle to Harry. “Adrianna taught you her duplicating spell, right?” 

            Harry smiled and sat down across from him with a bit more confidence, though he was careful not to get too close to Ginny.  He pulled out his wand.  “ _Duplisis.”_   He repeated the spell again, producing four bottles.

            Ginny snatched up a bottle.  “Fine, now go!”  She irritably unscrewed the bottle and took a far too hurried swallow.  She turned bright red and started to cough.  Ron laughed merrily.

            “Are you ok?” Harry asked, placing a hand on her back as she doubled over.

            When she finally caught her breath, she nodded, pulling away from Harry slightly.  Harry pulled back as if burned and folded his hands carefully before him.

            “All right then, Ginny-baby,” Ron teased, using a childhood nickname and earning a glare.  He opened his bottle and drank, determined not to show a reaction.  It tasted horrible and, true to its name, burned like fire the entire way down.  He fought the urge to cough and took a deep breath.  “Nothing to it,” he said in a voice a little higher than he would have liked. He blinked as he felt an odd fuzzy feeling creep over his mind.

            Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Hermione looking at him and he turned his head quickly to catch her gaze.  It made his head swim but it was worth it.  She blushed at having been caught and brushed a perfect curl behind her ear.  Looking away from him, she busied herself by carefully opening her bottle and taking a tiny, cautious sip.

            The way she brought the bottle to her lips made him smile.  _So_ Hermione.  Breaking all the rules, but doing it with perfect primness and caution.  Soon it would all fall away and there would be nothing but passion.

            Hermione turned a bit red and blinked rapidly as the alcohol slipped down her throat. She cleared her throat and took another larger sip.  That’s his girl.

            The thought filled Ron with anguish and he took a large gulp from his bottle.  This time couldn’t hold back the cough that followed the trail of fire down his throat.

            Luckily, no one noticed.  Judging from the choking and coughing coming from across the circle, Harry and Ginny were still drinking and still having trouble dealing with the Firewhiskey.  

            This is a little mixed up.  Try this…Ron couldn’t help himself, he had to tease.  “You alright there, Ginny?  Or do you need a break from the big kids stuff?”  

She shot Ron a look of distain and, dismissing him, turned to Hermione.  “You want to try it?” 

            Hermione nodded and avoided Ron’s gaze.  “Try what?” he wondered, growing both wary and excited about the evening’s turn of events.  

            Ginny piled two handfuls of small flame colored fruit in front of her.  ”  “Who’s first?  You?” she asked, a little mischievously.  

            Hermione shook her head. “You first.” She nervously grabbed a fruit and squeezed it above her wrist.  Her hands were shaking.  The juice covered her trembling wrist which she held out to Ginny.  

            Ginny boldly took Hermione’s hand in hers and raised her wrist to her mouth. She sucked the juice from Hermione’s skin…

            Harry began coughing violently, Ron eyes shot to him; he was bright red.  He turned back to the girls. “What the bloody hell are you doing?” he demanded, his voice oddly husky. 

            Hermione ignored him, squaring her shoulders resolutely.  “Anything?”

            Ginny shook her head, “You must really need the opposite sex.”  _Then_ Ginny looked at him.  “You’re going to have to try it with Ron,” she declared.

            “No way!”  Hermione said all too quickly, shooting him a nervous, angry glance, then glaring heatedly at Ginny.  The brilliant fire entered her eyes, the one she got before she began a challenge.  She took a swig of Firewhiskey, her longest one yet, wiping off her mouth with the back of her hand.

            Ron watched the next bit in utter shock.  Hermione purposefully reached across and grabbed Harry’s hand.  “Whah?”  Harry sputtered nervously, but the wanker stayed limp as Hermione squirted the fruit onto the back of his hand and hurriedly took it between her lips.

            Ron had never felt such white-hot rage.  He didn’t trust himself to speak or even move.

            Hermione’s hand flew to her mouth, as if she couldn’t believe what she had done.  Uncharacteristic giggles erupted from her.

            “It worked?”  Ginny asked excitedly.

            Hermione just nodded through her giggles.  Ginny grabbed Harry’s hand as if he were a rag doll and repeated the process.  Ron watched seething, while his sister licked the juice off his best friend’s wrist and dissolve into mirth.  “That’s bloody fantastic!” she cried.

            Ron still couldn’t move, for fear he might hit someone, but things got much worse.  

            “Hey,” Harry said.  “Am I just a doll for you two to use for your pleasure?”  Ron did not like his teasing tone especially since he still didn’t know what the hell was going on.  

            “Fine,” Hermione said through her giggles.  She squirted the fruit on her wrist and offered it to Harry.

            _That_ jerked Ron out of his daze; he reached out and snatched her hand back.  “Over my bloody dead body.”  His heated gaze met Hermione’s wide-eyed brown one. Fire passed between them.  Ron lifted her wrist to his lips, and without breaking eye contact, sucked.


	27. Flame Fruit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Warning: This chapter contains explicit sexual content. It also contains under aged drinking and in no way endorses this, merely acknowledges it as a fact of life. If you find either of these things offensive I would recommend skipping this chapter._

When Ron and Harry appeared at their bedroom door that familiar feeling of excitement and apprehension hit Hermione hard, taking the form of shortness of breath and a million butterflies in her stomach. If only Ron didn’t look so damned gorgeous in the silky blue shirt and crisp new trousers that she had helped pick out for him during their shopping trip this afternoon. What had she been thinking? Did she really need him to be more irresistible?

Hermione was determined not to let him see how much he affected her. However, it wasn’t working out too well, since she couldn’t seem to make eye contact. Well, then, she was determined not to let him affect her actions. She was still going to do this…she was going to be brave and exciting and adventurous, whether he liked it or not.

Please, let him like it. Please, let this be the thing that makes him finally see her as a woman and make him look at her the way Charlie looks at Adrianna.

Hermione heard Ginny demanding that the boys leave. She couldn’t echo the statement. How could she? That was the last thing she wanted, really. She let Ginny take the lead in the confrontation. Every step that Ron took to stay made her grow warmer; she could feel his eyes on her. Where had her voice gone?

Then Ron was demanding to share her Firewhiskey and she had the horrible thought, what if he’s here for _that_ and not for me? She found her voice, stating as carefully as she could, “There isn’t enough.” Which was absurd really, how much was she planning on drinking? Hermione just wanted to _try_ it.

Ron snatched the bottle out of her hand, making her heart race. Then he was sitting next to her, so close that she could feel his body heat. He was doing it on purpose, invading her body space, trying to unravel her. She promised herself that she wouldn’t let it work.

The next thing she knew, Harry had duplicated the bottle and there was now one for each of them. Oh heavens, exactly how much did they intend on drinking? This could be very bad. Excitement filled her.

“Fine, now go!” Ginny demanded hurriedly grabbing a bottle and taking a rather large drink. Hermione winced, watching Ginny turn red and cough. Ron laughed and the husky timber of his voice floated over her. She felt as though she had already been drinking.

“Are you ok?” Harry asked.

“All right then, Ginny-baby,” Ron mocked, a little too meanly for Hermione’s taste. She turned her head to reprimand him and froze as she watched him take a swallow. For some reason she suddenly found the bob of his Adam’s apple mesmerizing. His face flushed and his eyes teared, but he showed no other reaction to what Hermione was sure was his first taste of Firewhiskey. “Nothing to it,” he said huskily and Hermione realized that strange warmth was back in her abdomen and pelvis. There was something so incredibly…masculine about him just then.

He turned his head rapidly and caught her staring at him. For a moment she couldn’t move. The blue of his shirt made his eyes that much more brilliant, made them almost unnaturally blue, darker than the sky, brighter than a sapphire… She tore her eyes away and nervously pushed her hair back.

Hermione busied herself with opening her own bottle. Taking a deep breath and fighting away the urge to change her mind, she took a small sip. Yuck! It was awful, really awful. Oh heavens, it burned. She felt Ron’s eyes on her. She was not backing down. Hermione cleared her throat and took a bigger sip.

Coughing echoed around her as Hermione’s friends continued to force more of the liquid down. It occurred to Hermione that they were behaving foolishly really, the stuff tasted vile, but then warmth was spreading through her body and the tension she had felt in her muscles was slowly easing.

“You want to try the flame fruit?”

Hermione looked up at Ginny. The flame fruit. Try it in front of Ron? She nodded, suddenly feeling braver and took another sip from her Firewhiskey. It tasted better each time.

“Who’s first? You?” Ginny asked, spreading out the forbidden fruit.

Hermione shook her head. She wasn’t _that_ brave. “You first.” Before she could change her mind, she grabbed a fruit and squeezed the juice onto her wrist and offered it to Ginny. She couldn’t believe she was doing this. She felt wicked. Deliciously so. She hoped she was shocking the heck out of Ron.

Ginny licking off the juice felt weird and wet, but that was all really.

Harry was coughing violently and Ron demanded, “What the bloody hell are you doing?”

Hermione ignored them, suddenly eager to continue their experiment. “Anything?” she asked Ginny

Ginny shook her head. “You must really need the opposite sex.” Hermione felt herself droop with disappointment. “You’re going to have to try it with Ron,” Ginny asserted.

Hermione’s heart lodged in her throat. “No way!” she protested automatically. She was sure Ron would just _love_ that. Well, so would she, but she was not giving _him_ that satisfaction. She was still angry with him, though at the moment, her mind was spinning and she couldn’t remember why.

She took a long swig of Firewhiskey, feeling more courageous by the minute as she impulsively reached across and grabbed Harry’s hand. It would be just like doing it with Ginny, she told herself. Of course, Ron wouldn’t think so. The thought gave her pleasure.

“Whah…?” Harry sputtered as she squirted the fruit onto the back of his hand and quickly lapped off the fruit juice. Immediately, warmth filled her, more pleasant than with the Firewhiskey alone. Bubbles of happiness started low in her belly, threatening to spill out. She placed a hand over her mouth to keep them in but the giggles erupted anyway.

“It worked?” Ginny asked excitedly.

Oh my, had it worked. Hermione could only nod. More giggles followed as Ginny grabbed Harry’s hand and repeated the process. It was the funniest thing that she had ever seen.

“That’s bloody fantastic,” Ginny declared and Hermione had to agree.

“Hey,” Harry cried. “Am I just a doll for you two to use for your pleasure?”

“Fine,” Hermione said feeling generous. She squirted the fruit on her wrist and offered it to Harry.

She jerked as she heard Ron angrily hiss, “Over my bloody dead body.” Oh my, he was in a rage. A jealous rage. It was brilliant. He looked so sexy…the thought made her want to laugh but then he grabbed her hand and she gasped instead, meeting his eyes. They were on fire. She was drowning. Drowning in fire…that didn’t make sense, she thought, before the giggles started again.

Hermione watched as Ron lifted her wrist to his lips, so slowly it seemed that time had frozen. Pools of heat were filling her abdomen, one after another. Without breaking eye contact, Ron took the tender skin of her wrist between his lips and sucked.

She didn’t know if it was the fruit or just the sensation of Ron’s lips on her skin, but Hermione tingled all over. She felt herself melting; how could she angry at him? Especially after such a primitive display of male possessiveness. Oh, wait she was supposed to be angry _because_ of that.

Ron’s mouth lingered on her wrist, as Hermione watched his tongue dart out and lick up the last drop of juice. He lifted his head and looked at her.

She licked her lips and couldn’t help but imagine it was his tongue. “You’re supposed to drink now,” she told him huskily.

His eyes held hers for another minute before slowly grabbing his bottle and taking a long swig. Ron’s eyes closed as the sensation washed over him. His expression was so intense Hermione almost felt like she could feel his pleasure.

She wanted to feel it again first hand. “I want more,” she demanded of him, scarcely believing her gall.

Ron clutched her hand painfully. “You only drink from _me_ ,” he declared.

Hermione knew she should protest; that she should be furious. Who did he think he was? Oh, yeah he was the man she was in love with. She just nodded, like the besotted idiot she was.

Ron’s hand shook as he reached over and clumsily grabbed a fruit. Hermione took a drink from her bottle and looked at Ron in anticipation. He glanced up at her and ended up smashing the berry as he involuntarily clutched his hand. He blushed and sputtered.

Hermione smiled and took his gooey hand, pleased with his reaction. She tossed aside the hull of the fruit and bringing his hand to her mouth, lapped the juice off his palm. This was ecstasy. Wave after wave of bliss filled her, so much stronger than she felt when she licked Harry. She needed more. She sucked a finger into her mouth. Spurred on by his groan, she repeated the process with each finger, enjoying each sweet, salty drop. Hermione looked up at Ron’s face when she finally came to his thumb and found a look of lust so strong he almost looked pained. She smiled, darting out her tongue to get the last drop, in the crease between his thumb and forefinger.

Ron growled, pulling his hand away and coming up on his knees to grab her head roughly. He pulled her face to his and ground his lips to hers. Hermione moaned and opened her mouth immediately. When his tongue found hers, she finally felt at home again.

She turned herself more fully toward him, allowing him to pull her to her knees as well… reaching for him, needing him. Hermione wanted to feel every inch of him. She sucked violently on his lips and tongue every chance she got, but he would not be dominated. She had pushed him too far; he held her head and claimed her with his mouth. His teeth scraped her lips, but she didn’t care, she wanted to be claimed. She wound her arms under his and clutched at his back and shoulders, matching him moan for moan.

The sound of the door slamming startled her and she pulled away abruptly. Ron was gasping for breath. His lips were moist and swollen. “It’s just Ginny and Harry. They left,” he gasped.

Oh god, Harry and Ginny. Hermione had completely forgotten about them. Embarrassment flooded her, but then Ron moaned, “Hermione,” and started to pull her closer. She forgot all about her friends. They weren’t here now, were they?

Hermione smiled at his eagerness. It made her feel…powerful. She teasingly pushed him away and said breathlessly, “Wait, don’t you want more?” Her eyes darted to the fruit on the floor and Ron’s eyes followed.

“Oh, yeah,” he breathed huskily, devouring her with his eyes and giving her a lop-sided smile. Hermione carefully picked up a fruit, finding her fingers weren’t working all that well. “What is that stuff?” Ron asked with awe.

Hermione smiled dreamily. “Flame fruit. Ginny nicked them from Bill. It enhances the effect of the alcohol.” She held out her arm, feeling herself sway toward him. Her voice involuntarily dropped an octave. “The closer to the heart it is placed, the stronger the effect,” she breathed against his lips, then pulled away, squeezing the juice onto the tender skin inside her elbow, just as she had seen Adrianna do earlier.

Ron growled as she pulled back, swaying on her knees. He was roughly grabbing her arm and sucking as much of her skin into his mouth as he could fit. She thought she was going to disappear inside him. He dragged his lips up her arm, nipping and lapping her on the way up. Hermione leaned heavily on her other, outstretched arm. Her head lolled about, her neck seemingly having turned to jelly. He nipped her shoulder, pushed the caped sleeve down so he had better access, traveling over and up her exposed throat, biting at her chin.

She pulled away as he tried to capture her lips once more. Smiling, she teased, “You forgot to drink again.”

He gave a husky laugh and took an impressive gulp of Firewhiskey. Hermione used to short distance he pulled away to regain her sense of balance. She liked this game. She wasn’t ready for it to end and she loved the liquid courage that pulsed through her, allowing her to act on her impulses.

Ron capped the bottle and tossed it aside. He went to grab for her but she placed her hands on his chest and shook her head. “It’s my turn.” She let her hands slide up his chest to play with his collar. Heavens, she loved the feel of him. “Only you cheated a bit, so I get to go a bit closer to the heart.” She unbuttoned his top button.

“Sounds fair,” he croaked, groping uselessly for a piece of fruit and not finding any. Poor Ron, he wasn’t nearly as good at this game as she was.

Hermione giggled and grabbed one herself, along with her bottle. His hands were gripping her waist, so she couldn’t pull back far as she drank. Instead she just threw back her head and drank, and his lips found her vulnerable neck. She capped the bottle and dropped it, pushing him away. “Now, now, you’re cheating again.”

“Sorry, can’t help myself,” he said wolfishly, then gasped as she sprayed juice below his chin and leaned forward to lap it up. She nipped at his strong jaw with her lips, forgetting the juice, until she realized it had dribbled down his neck and into his shirt. She followed it, her tongue dipping down his collar and getting the last drop.

She looked up at him with glassy eyes; she was feeling more and more fuzzy. “My turn,” he growled, pulling her closer.

Hermione smiled, she still had the upper hand. _She_ knew the next step. She pulled back, and used both hands to pull at the top of her shirt, bringing it down to the edge of her bra, revealing her modest cleavage. She grinned up at him. “Your turn.”

Hermione would have sworn he was drooling. “Shite, Hermione,” he breathed.

“Don’t swear…” he cut her off with a short hard kiss that made her forget what she was saying. He grabbed his bottle eagerly, tearing off the cap and drinking rapidly. He sat the bottle away from them and groped for a piece of fruit. Catching one this time, he all but smashed it on her chest in his enthusiasm.

Hermione gasped as the cool, sticky substance spread itself over the swell of her breasts and into her cleavage. Her rapid breathing only serving to spread it further. Ron’s hands found the small of her back and crushed her to him and as he buried his head between her breasts. Her hands fell limp from her shirt and then clutched at his hair. She had to close her eyes; the feeling of his lips against the swells was so intense. She cried out when his tongue followed the juice down to the space between her breasts.

She pushed him away, wanting her turn. He fell back on his arms, stunned by the change. Hermione attacked his buttons, but her fingers wouldn’t work. Ron’s hands joined hers, but they weren’t working any better. “Goddamn it,” he hissed and yanked the shirt apart roughly, scattering buttons and causing Hermione to dissolve into yet another fit of giggles.

He was _so_ wonderful. She kissed his lips, slowly, sloppily, reaching for her bottle with her hand. Ron moaned and was about to deepen the kiss when she found it and pulled away to drink. She took another berry. Hermione squeezed. “Right over the heart,” she breathed, before attacking it with her tongue.

Ron moaned and threaded his hands into her hair, sending hair pins everywhere. She must look a sight, but she didn’t care, as she followed the juice over his chest and onto his belly. He yanked her head back to his for a sensual open-mouthed kiss.

When he pulled away, he said teasingly, “That hardly seems fair. You got a lot closer to the heart.”

Feeling a rush of courage, she sat back away from him and hastily pulled her sticky shirt over her head.

* * * * *

Harry had been relieved when Ron had finally decided to go after the girls. He had been apprehensive when they entered the room and Ginny had demanded that they leave. He had been nervous when Ron won the battle and Harry finally sat down next to Ginny. He had been excited when he tried his first drink of Firewhiskey. When Ginny leaned over and licked Hermione’s wrist... There were no words to describe how he felt in that moment.

The closest thing that he could come up with was hot…really _, really_ , hot. It might have been the single most exciting moment of his life, watching these two incredibly good looking girls eat fruit of each other…. if it weren’t for the fact that his best friend was sitting across from him. And that the sexy, fruit-eating girls happened to be said best mate’s sister and…well, his girl.

Harry began coughing violently to cover up the urge to moan and to give himself the opportunity to lean forward and cover up the incredibly embarrassing semi that was just beginning to tent his all too loose trousers.

“What the bloody hell are you doing?” Ron barked. It was an excellent question, why the hell were the girls licking each other? Were they trying to kill him?

Ginny and Hermione went on arguing about _something_ back and forth. Harry stared down at the odd fruit on the floor. His Firewhiskey addled mind was trying to figure out what they were talking about, when he felt someone grab his hand.

He looked up to see Hermione clutching him. Harry barely had time to get out, “Whah?” before she squirted juice from the fruit onto the back of his hand. Before he could ask what was happening her mouth was on his hand. It was only for a second, but it felt like forever. Harry was in shock, certain that the Firewhiskey was making him hallucinate. Hermione did _not_ just lick him.

He glanced up. Crap, Ron was going to kill him.

“It worked?” Ginny asked excitedly. Hermione was giggling and the world was spinning. This was _definitely_ a dream, this was definitely _not_ happening.

Then, as if to prove him right Ginny grabbed the same hand and as Harry watched, slack jawed, the beautiful redhead splattered juice on his wrist. He bit his cheek until he tasted blood to keep from crying out when her soft lips closed around his skin. She didn’t withdraw her lips as quickly as Hermione. She lingered there and Harry could feel her tongue swirl. His semi was rapidly approaching a full out erection. He took another swig of Firewhiskey and suddenly didn’t care about what Ron was going to do to him.

“That’s bloody fantastic,” Ginny said and Harry couldn’t help but agree.

He took yet another drink for courage before his fuzzy mind allowed him to say, “Hey, am I just a doll for you two to use for your pleasure?”

“Fine,” Hermione said through her giggles. She squirted the fruit on her wrist and offered it to Harry. Harry almost choked, looking up at Ron and realizing there wasn’t enough Firewhiskey in the world to make _that_ expression seem harmless.

“Over my bloody dead body.” Then Harry did choke as he was forced to watch his best mate fucking ravage his other best mate’s arm.

“Yuck!” Ginny cried and Harry realized, oh _yeah, I don’t have to watch_. He averted his eyes and looked over at Ginny who was blocking out the couple with her hand and giggling.

Ron finally pulled back and Hermione said in a tone that made Harry’s eyebrows shoot to the ceiling, “You have to drink now.” They didn’t seem to have any idea that he and Ginny were still in the room. Not even with Ginny making gagging noises.

“I want more,” Hermione said and Harry officially decided to stop listening.

Unfortunately, he still heard Ron say, “You only drink from _me_.”

Ginny laughed uproariously and looked over at him. “Sorry, Harry looks like you don’t get some.”

With her bright eyes and disheveled hair she looked delicious. “That hardly seems fair,” he managed, suddenly out of breath. “I let you.”

She smiled teasingly, “Who said life was fair?”

Harry felt drawn to her as he leaned forward and whispered, “Yeah, but if you don’t let me and I don’t let you…then neither of us would have any fun.”

Ginny looked him over for a moment, so close he could smell her sweet smell. “Fine, then,” she said, grabbing a piece of fruit. “You need to drink first.”

Hell yeah, he needed to drink first. There was no way he was going to be able to _lick_ Ginny…in front of her brother, no less, without it. Even if his brother was occupied…he looked over to see Ron’s fingers in Hermione’s mouth…eeww!

Shaking away the image he took a _long_ swallow. Only when his head was swimming did he turn back to Ginny, who had her hand prepared and outstretched. Harry’s heart lurched; he couldn’t believe he was going to do this.

Coward! He reprimanded himself and forced himself to take the outstretched hand. Blushing furiously, he brought her hand to his mouth. As soon as the juice touched his tongue his mind began to swirl faster, pleasure spread through his body, giving him the courage to linger, just a second, on the salty taste of her skin.

“Good?” Ginny asked huskily.

“Mmm,” he nodded. He was distracted by a loud moan and turned his eyes to the horrifying sight of his best mates locked in an enthusiastic snog. At least they weren’t fighting anymore.

Harry grabbed his and Ginny’s bottles and shoved them at her. “Hey,” she cried.

“Just take these.” Harry scooped up a hand full of berries and pulled Ginny to her feet. “We need to get out of here before we see something that even an Obliteration charm can’t remove.”

He pulled the giggling girl into the hallway and kicked the door shut behind them. Harry pulled her up the stairs and into his room, swinging her inside and shutting the door. It took him four tries to do the lighting spell on the candles; his words were so badly slurred.

His eyes adjusted to the new light and Harry found Ginny on her knees on his bed, bouncing. “Wow, your bed is so much better than mine! I can’t believe Ron didn’t come down and do ours too, the giant prat!” Ginny broke off in uncontrollable giggles.

Harry couldn’t help but stare at her, though his vision was a bit blurry. She was sultry and innocent at the same time, in her clinging black dress, giggling and rolling around in childish glee. She was so amazing and he was a git.

“Ginny, Ginny,” he said, stumbling to the bed. “I’m sorry. I’m a prat, too! I’m sorry.” He climbed up onto the bed with some difficulty and knelt facing her.

Ginny righted herself and smiled at him with a siren’s grin. “Harry Potter, do you even know what you’re apologizing for?”

Harry was caught off guard; he was having such trouble forming coherent thoughts. “Um…yeah…er… I…” The longer he stumbled the smugger she got. Oh, that’s right, he remembered. “I was nasty this morning and I…I forgot to wish you a Happy Birthday. I was a git.” He smiled, proud of himself.

Ginny gave him a lopsided smile, “Well, that’s better than I expected. You got part of it.” She fumbled for a bottle and twisted open the cap.

“What’s the rest?” he asked, watching mesmerized as she lifted the bottle to her lips and drank. “Come on, I want to know…really.”

“Well…” Ginny picked up his hand, making his breath hitch. “For one,” she squirted fruit juice onto the meaty part of his palm. “You didn’t say a thing about my new dress.” She bit into his palm, making him jump. Harry felt her tiny tongue dart out and lave off all the juice.

Harry watched her, his breathing accelerating. He searched for his voice declaring, “Your dress is amazing.” Once he started he couldn’t seem to stop, careening off course, out of control. “Fucking incredible, really. You look _so_ bloody beautiful. That…that dress should be illegal. If your brothers didn’t have their heads up their arses and weren’t completely pissed they would have never let you out of your room… _that’s_ how good you look.”

She beamed up at him. “Really?” she asked giddily.

“Yeah…yeah.” She looked pleased and he rushed on, desperate to keep her looking at him just like that. “Yeah, and your hair is fantastic…you look old…but not too old…just older, like mature. It’s just a good thing bloody Dean Thomas isn’t here.”

“Oh, yeah?” she teased with raised eyebrows.

“Yeah,” Harry swallowed. “’Cause…’cause then he’d try to ravage you…” Ginny giggled lyrically and handed him her open bottle of Firewhiskey. He took a deep swig, wiping his lips as he finished. “Then I’d have to pummel him.”

She laughed again and it was hypnotic. “Why would you do that?”

“‘Cause Ron’s too busy snogging Hermione’s face off to do it himself. It’s my _duty_ …to defend your honor.” His words were slurred but passionate and Ginny was still giving him _that_ look, so he smiled happily.

“Here, I think you earned this,” Ginny held out a berry in her perfect little hand.

Harry picked it up eagerly, if clumsily, and squeezed it into her palm. This time when he lifted it to his mouth, he had none of those pesky _thoughts_ to slow him down. He lapped up the sweet substance eagerly, very aware of the softness of Ginny’s skin under the juice. It occurred to him that he was actually getting to _taste_ more of her than he had of Cho last year. The thought made his heart race.

He finally let her hand go when the juice had been gone for so long that the pretense of the game was absurd. He became aware of the heady rush that the juice produced. “That stuff’s bloody fantastic,” he breathed throwing Ginny into another fit of giggles. _She_ was bloody fantastic. He wanted to kiss her.

Oh Shite! He couldn’t believe he had even thought that. But he did, he wanted to kiss her… so badly. Fuck, did he want to kiss her.

Bloody hell, he could _not_ kiss his best mate’s little sister in a drunken haze. She’d pummel him…or hex him. Or _worse,_ they’d end up like Ron and Hermione and she’d pummel him the morning after…with her brothers waiting in line to take their turn.

“Know what?” she asked him, pulling him out of his foggy thoughts.

“What?” He made every effort not to stare at her lips.

“These fruit, I nicked them from Bill… and Adrianna said that they’re even stronger if you put them on skin closer to your heart.” Ginny sported a Cheshire cat grin and shiny, twinkling eyes.

“What!” Harry exclaimed. “You mean…”

“Umhm….We saw Bill and Adrianna do it.”

“No! Like with their clothes off!” Harry was half turned on by the image of him doing that with Ginny and half horrified of the thought of ‘Drana and ….Bill?”

“Bill had his shirt open and Adrianna just pulled hers down…like this…” Ginny demonstrated by pulling her dress down so all but the tips of her breasts were showing. Harry’s eyes couldn’t have been any wider; he even thought he may be drooling.

He finally managed to find his voice, but he couldn’t tear his eyes from her chest. “Where…where was Charlie?”

Ginny giggled. “Off with Tonks.”

Harry chuckled. “Charlie is going to _kill_ Bill.”

“Yup…if he finds out…I hope he doesn’t. Then I get blackmail that will last for _years_.”

Harry was at last able to drag his eyes back to Ginny’s face. She was looking at him expectantly. He swallowed. “Do...do you want to do…do that?”

“Nooo!” she protested quickly, then looked down. “Well, I reckon not. Though I suppose we could try and get a _little_ closer to the heart…just to see if it works.” She looked at him wickedly, and then before Harry knew it Ginny had flattened a berry on the side of his face and was laughing so hard that she fell over.

“Eww, Ginny,” he whined, reaching up for the gooey mess.

“No! Don’t waste it,” she hiccupped, crawling back over to him. When she reached him, she grabbed his head in both her hands and licked his cheek.

Harry couldn’t help but laugh. “That tickles.” he whispered as Ginny slowly, agonizingly licked off every drop. It took forever since they were both laughing so hard that she kept having to start over.

When she finally pulled back he turned and, realizing that her lips were only a breath away, pulled back in panic. He could _not_ kiss her.

Ginny didn’t seem to notice, she looked dazed. She was swaying a bit on her knees. “Your turn,” she breathed, offering Harry the bottle they had been using. They had long since lost track of whose was whose.

Harry stared at her, as he drank. He couldn’t use her cheek. It was too close to her mouth…it was too tempting. He grabbed a berry and rolled it around in his palm, considering. Ginny had that same expectant look; she even tilted her face toward him, offering her cheek.

He shook his head. “Don’t wanna…” Before Ginny could react Harry impulsively squeezed the fruit over her all but bare shoulder, next to the piece of string she called a strap.

Ginny gasped. “Harry! It will run onto my dress.”

“Good,” he muttered. “Should be illegal…needs to be burned…you should never wear it again.”

Ginny giggled again. “Harry,” she reprimanded, trying to push him away as he came closer to her. He leaned over and bit her shoulder in response. She let out a shrill sound that turned into a laugh and ended in a moan as he soothed the area he had bit with his tongue and went about lapping up all the juice. The rush of sensation began before he pulled away. Fuck, Ginny was right. It _was_ stronger.

When Harry lifted his head he felt like it was full of cotton. Happy, happy cotton. Laughter erupted from him and he found himself keeling over. Next thing he knew his head was on Ginny’s lap and he was laughing up at her.

Why had he never noticed how pretty she was? “Gin, Gin, Gin, Gin…” he repeated giddily, staring into her laughing eyes. He reached up and touched the tips of her silky hair.

Harry hadn’t noticed her. He took her for granted. He was awful. He would never, never do it again.

Suddenly a thought occurred to him and he sat up. “Ginny, I didn’t give you your birthday present!”

Ginny gave a scoff. “Harry I didn’t open any of my presents…or have my birthday cake. I think maybe all those people downstairs forgot what this party was for.” She grinned sardonically.

Harry was horrified. He scrambled off the bed. “You _have_ to open your present. It’s, like, eleven o’clock at night. It’s almost _not_ your birthday any more. You have to open your present. You have to have cake,” he insisted passionately.

“Harry,” she said soothingly, as if she thought he was nutters. “We can’t go downstairs, ‘case you didn’t notice we’re quite visibly pissed.” She tried to stand up and swayed as if to demonstrate her point.

Harry frowned, looking around his room. He rushed over to his trunk. “We’ll use this,” he pulled out his Invisibility cloak. Rushing back to the bed he gathered up the remaining half dozen berries and put them in his pocket…couldn’t forget those. Precious little buggers. He put the bottle of Firewhiskey that they hadn’t opened since entering the room in his back pocket. The other was almost empty. Couldn’t let it go to waste. He took one last swig and handed it to Ginny. “Here, finish this.”

She smiled, downing the rest and hiccupping. She threw the empty bottle into the ~~bin~~ and giggled when she missed horribly.

Harry shook out his cloak with a flourish. “Come on, let’s go.” The cloak fell neatly around them both.

* * * * *

“Right over the heart.”

Ron couldn’t believe how fortunate he was. Hermione leaned forward and her amazing tongue darted out to touch his chest. He moaned out loud. To think, less than an hour ago, he couldn’t have dreamed that _this_ could happen…not that he was complaining. Fuck, he didn’t think he’d ever have anything to complain about for the rest of his god forsaken life. Just as long as the moment kept going.

He threaded his hands into her hair, sending pins everywhere. Hermione was _so_ beautiful. Ron could barely get his sodden, pleasure soaked brain around the concept that it was _her_ mouth following the trail of juice down over his chest to his navel. He thought he just might die.

Instead, Ron let out a groan and gently urged her head up to meet his. He had to taste her again. She met him with her lips parted, as were his own. It felt like they had been practicing this for a lifetime for she moved with him as if she were made for him. He moved his tongue over hers in a same lazy, heady way that the Firewhiskey and flame juice were soaking into his brain. God, that stuff was fantastic! Almost as fantastic as the girl whose tongue was stroking his. He had to have more of her.

Ron pulled back and couldn’t help but grin foolishly at her. To think, less than an hour ago she wouldn’t speak to him. Now she was smiling at him …her chest pressed up against him, tantalizing him with each labored breath she took. Fuck, he _needed_ more of her. He said teasingly, “That hardly seems fair. You got a lot closer to the heart.” He could hardly believe he dared…but the Firewhiskey was better than any Gryffindor courage. Would she take his challenge?

Hermione pulled away from him and Ron felt a brief period of panic. Then he saw the light come into her beautiful eyes…his girl could never back away from a challenge. But what would she…?

His heart just about stopped when she crossed her arms and grasped the edge of her shirt. Then before he knew what was happening, Hermione had pulled off the top and tossed it across the room.

His heart _did_ stop then…he was sure of it. He had thought he had been prepared. He’d seen her bare breasts before, though in the dark. Now, she was sitting there, on her knees in a soft pink bra and flowing soft pink skirt and Ron was worried he might come right there.

He would have never thought that pink was Hermione’s color. It was so _girly_. Well, maybe that was the point; to prove exactly how much of a girl she was. And she was one _hell_ of a girl. Where the hell had she gotten that bra? Satiny and smooth, she practically bubbled over it. He must have been drooling, but he couldn’t make his arms work to wipe his face. Ron didn’t know if he’d ever regain the power to move his limbs.

Hermione looked away, a blush on her face, her perfect teeth biting her bottom lip. “I shouldn’t have been so forward,” she mumbled. She lunged for the shirt that she had just discarded and clutched it in her hand.

Voluntary movement returned with a vengeance. Ron grabbed her hand with a speed which made his drunken mind spin. He held it away from her perfect curves. She wouldn’t hide them, would she? He had just gotten a chance to see… “Forward…? What do you mean? I mean nothing’s wrong with forward. Forward’s good. Forward’s great. Blimey, Hermione, you’re always _forward_ … why wouldn’t…?”

Ron babbled on and on but she still wouldn’t look up at him, her face turned away and down. “It’s all right, Ron. I saw the look on your face. You must think I’m the scarlet woman you accused me of being all those years ago.”

“Hermione,” he half chuckled, half groaned, trying to turn her face up with one hand so he could look at her, all the while struggling to keep the shirt away from her chest with the other hand. It all took far more coordination than he had at the moment. “I never thought you were a scarlet woman. I was just being a git…an angry, stupid git that says things that I don’t mean. You know that.”

She fought looking at him. In frustration, Ron leaned forward and pressed his lips to her cheek, feeling guilty for ever saying those things to her… for corrupting her innocence so that she would even question that she was…impure. _He_ made her impure. The idea was horrible and arousing at the same time. “I don’t think that,” he repeated, his lips brushing her face. “I don’t think you are a scarlet woman…I think you’re beautiful.”

Hermione scoffed, sniffling. Ron’s heart broke just a bit. “Please, I saw that look of shock and…revulsion.”

“Revulsion!!” Ron exclaimed, pulling back. “You mean the look of shock and _awe_ at how fucking amazing you look in that bloody thing....” He pressed his hand to her mouth. “No, I don’t want to hear about my swearing…‘cause goddamn it, Hermione…I need to swear…” Ron wasn’t sure he was making sense. He was trying to form these words in his fuzzy mind. It was _so_ important. “Don’t you recognize lust when you see it?”

Hermione finally met his eyes, with a look of such soft innocence….Shite, he was a wanker. “Do you really like it?” she asked with uncertainty.

“The bra?” he managed incredulously. “Shite, sweetheart, that thing almost killed me.”

She flushed with pleasure, looked down, and back up at him with a small smile that made him melt. He realized he had called her sweetheart. He’d never done that before. Not aloud anyway. Oh well, who cares? He was drunk and she was half-starkers. Who the fuck cared?

The hand that was holding the shirt relaxed and she dropped it to the floor. Ron entwined their fingers and sighed in pleasure. She turned her head so their foreheads touched. “I got it today. A bunch of them, actually. Adrianna said it was no wonder I felt like a little girl in the bras I was wearing….”

Ron frowned, what was she on about? It was hard to concentrate. Her almost bare breasts were brushing his chest and his shirt was open…

“…I know they’re still not as good as the ones in the pictures but…”

“What!” Ron pulled away and stared at her in confusion. “You mean you think your breasts…aren’t as good…” She nodded, biting her lip again. “Well, that’s the daftest thing I have ever heard… ever! And I’ve heard some pretty thick things…hell I’ve _said_ some pretty thick things. But Hermione, why are you even comparing yourself to those…those slags?”

Hermione shrugged miserably.

“And don’t even say you’re a slag…Don’t even think it. ‘Cause you know you’re not…”

“But they’re beautiful…and I’m… You said you wanted the best-looking girl….”

“Hermione,” he said shaking his head in exasperation. What was wrong with her? “You _are_ best looking girl…haven’t I told you…”

Her eyes snapped to his. “No. No, you haven’t.”

“Well, I’ve shown you,” he almost whined. “Shite, Hermione, don’t I show you every day with the way….Hell, you had your hand around the evidence just days ago. You…you…I told you were gorgeous…Why don’t you believe me?”

“Because I’m not!” she yelled heatedly, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’m not beautiful. I’m not gorgeous. Even with the make over…I’m just passably pretty…I’m…”

Ron grabbed her shoulders in frustration, fighting the urge to shake her. “You are! Stop it! You don’t need the new hair…you don’t need the bra. They’re both amazing and look incredible on you, but you….You still don’t believe me.” Ron looked down into her miserable face. “How can a make you….” He felt so helpless.

He stumbled to his feet, pulling her with him.

“What…” she mumbled.

“Come here,” he urged, giving her no choice as he bodily dragged her over to the mirror and forced her to face it. He stood behind her, his hands firmly clasped on her shoulders. They looked so rumpled and sexy together he lost his breath. Hermione refused to look in the mirror.

“My, my,” the mirror stated, making Hermione shrink back. “Don’t you two look like you’ve been….”

“ _Accio wand_ ,” Ron called in frustration and was amazed when, despite his drunken state, it flew to his hand from the floor where it had fallen from his pocket. He quickly silenced the bloody mirror and had the presence of mind to place the Imperturbable that they had _again_ forgotten on the door. How come Hermione only remembered it when she was trying to keep _him_ out?

“Would you look at yourself?” he commanded but she ignored him. Would it kill her to at least try to cooperate? “Could you at least act impressed at that bit of magic I just did, given I’m completely piss…”

“Ron,” she giggled softly, swatting at his hand. “Enough with the swearing.”

“Then look in the mirror,” he insisted, relieved at her smile. Hermione sighed and met his eyes in the mirror. The contact was jarring.

“I’m a mess…look at my hair…” she said sadly.

Ron couldn’t keep the eye contact. “You look sexy,” he said softly, sincerely. He heard a soft intake of breath. Slowly he reached up and removed all the remaining pins from her hair, letting the soft, shiny curls cascade over her shoulders. They were softer than silk on his fingers. He wanted to rub it all over him….maybe the makeover wasn’t such a bad thing. When he was done, he buried his face and hands in the mass. “Beautiful.”

Breathing in her scent, Ron felt dizzy. He slipped an arm around her waist and hugged her to him. He met her eyes in the mirror, they were glassy with tears. “So beautiful.”

She sniffed again and shook her head.

“You are, can’t you see? Your hair, your face, your eyes….”

Hermione snorted. “My eyes?” she repeated mockingly. “They’re the color of….the color of shite.” She whispered the last word, making Ron shake with laughter.

“They’re the color of chocolate,” he told her passionately, kissing her cheek reverently. “Deep rich chocolate…” He kissed down her cheek, lingering on her chin. Her head lolled back onto his shoulder, baring her graceful neck. “So perfect, so smooth,” he slurred in a manner he knew made no sense whatsoever. He gave into the impulse to worship her neck with his tongue. Finally she was too busy moaning and clutching at his head to argue with him.

What a wonderful way to win an argument.

Hermione stretched her arms over her head to reach back and cradle his head. The move brought her magnificent breasts into perfect definition, stretching out her stomach. His hands moved to frame her bra reverently. “How can you say this isn’t gorgeous?” he whispered dizzily in her ear, feeling as though his brain was made of hot caramel.

She smiled lazily. “It’s just the bra,” she denied huskily.

Ron shook his head. How is it she didn’t understand? Hermione understood everything.

He pushed the bra straps down her arms, dragging his lips over her shoulders. His hands caressed back up her arms and slowly, so slowly…over her shoulders and down the front of her chest. He held his breath as his fingers entered her bra and dragged it down bearing them, at last, to his gaze.

He had to keep reminding himself not to freeze and stare like he had before…that didn’t go over so well. His mouth was dry. He had to force out, “Beautiful.” Fuck, he was eloquent. Ron really needed to think of more words… all he did was repeat himself.

Hermione’s eyes were locked on his hands. Ron watched her watch him in the mirror. His gaze dragged to the dusky hue of her nipples, puckered and erect. He was breathing heavily and so was she; he could feel the movement of her ribcage beneath his hands. His thumbs couldn’t help but trace the edge of pink. Hermione let out a long moan and Ron’s hands clutched involuntarily, squeezing her breasts and providing stimulus for another moan.

Her lids were at half mast, her cheeks flushed, her head back… “How can you not see how beautiful you are?”

Her eyes were still on his hands. “In your hands…in your hands I see…it’s beautiful.”

Emotion filled him, uncomfortably so. What she did to him. He had to hide his eyes in her shoulder. He allowed his hands to see for him, tracing every crevice, memorizing the pucker of her nipples and the curve of her flesh. He squeezed the tip.

Hermione cried out, turning abruptly in his arms. He went limp, letting his hands loosely circle her. She grabbed at him roughly, one hand pulling at his hair, yanking his face to hers; the other clutching his shoulder, nails digging into him painfully. Ron met her frantic kiss. He loved it when she was feral. He loved her passion. He loved it that her teeth cut his lip as she nipped and pulled at him and sucked on his lips.

Her hands moved into his shirt and he groaned, they felt so smooth and soft. They traveled up, pushing his shirt off his shoulders, as her tongue battled his. Reluctantly, he let go of his grip on her waist to allow the shirt to slip to the floor, sucking on her tongue all the more fiercely to maintain the contact. When finally the shirt was gone, his arms flew back around her like a vice, hauling her as close as possible, kneading her back…her bare back.

Fuck, he could feel her nipples against his chest. They dragged against him.

It took him a minute to realize that Hermione was pushing him back. “Wait,” she mumbled against his lips. “It pinches.”

She reached around and unfastened her bra. Ron’s stomach flipped at the mere idea of it. He pulled back just far enough to grab the offending article of clothing and toss it across the room. The romantic gesture was ruined when it caught on her elbow. But the damn thing finally fell away and she was pressed against him unencumbered.

Ron pulled her back into another kiss, one arm holding her close, the other snaking between their bodies to find a breast. He managed to find her nipple and get her to make that wonderfully arousing moaning sound again. There was no way she wouldn’t notice the erection pressed against her this time.

Hermione pulled away again. “Wait.”

What now? His shoulders drooped and he gave her his puppy dog look without even meaning to. His hands reached out as she pulled out of his arms. “Wha…” She left his arms completely. “Hermione…” he whined.

She threw him a smile that could only be described as flirtatious and swooped down, her breasts bouncing in a mesmerizing way…and grabbed a couple flame fruit off the floor and a bottle of Firewhiskey. Oh…. She was bloody brilliant.

Hermione took a long drink of Firewhiskey and set the bottle on the dresser and leaned against it looking at him shyly. What was she up to?

Hesitantly, shyly, with the most deceptively innocent look he had ever seen, she reached up and squirted the fruit directly on her nipple.

She _was_ trying to kill him.

“’Mione,” he growled. Grabbing her waist, he lifted her onto the dresser. She was on a perfect level to… her hands pushed him back. “What?”

“You forgot to drink,” she breathed huskily.

“God, love, I don’t need any more Firewhiskey. I just need you.” He held her hands back and finally…finally descended on his goal.

 


	28. Falling

            “No way! Fleur did _not_ call Adrianna _old_!” Harry exclaimed.

 

            “She did. I swear,” Ginny laughed dizzily…happily…giddily. She beamed at Harry. She was having the best bloody birthday of her entire life. Not that she’d ever let Bill have the satisfaction of knowing that.

 

            But truly, who could ask for more? The discarded wrappings of dozens of gifts surrounded her. There was half eaten birthday cake in front of her, the heady pounding of Firewhiskey and flame fruit was coursing through her veins. Best of all, Harry Potter was gazing at her as if…. as if she were the only person in the world. There they were, huddled under his invisibility cloak on the kitchen floor, just the two of them. And a bottle of Firewhiskey.

 

            “I don’t believe it! She doesn’t have the stones!” Harry shook his head fervently, if somewhat wobbly.

 

            “She did. She called her _worn_ _around the edges_ ,” Ginny insisted, nodding. “Though I don’t think she has stones…” This sent her and Harry into new fits of giggles.

 

            Harry struggled to talk through the laughter. “Wait, wait. You’ve got to tell me what ‘Drana did when she heard that. I’m surprised Fleur’s still alive.”

 

             Ginny took deep breaths to control the laughter, waving her hand at him and shaking her head. “No! No, I’m telling you it didn’t even faze her. Then ‘Drana insinuated that she and Bill…. had some sort of _experience_. Fleur turned four shades of green and dragged Bill away.”

 

            Ginny relished the memory. Fleur was _so_ not good enough for her brother, even if he was being a prat. Harry had a shocked, open-mouthed expression. It gave her a warm feeling of power. _She_ put it there.

 

            “Wait,” Harry sputtered. “Did you say Adrianna…and Bill. I don’t understand. I thought Charlie…”

 

            The poor boy looked so confused. It was funny really. The giggles bubbled over again and she shrugged dramatically. “That’s what Adrianna said.” The look on Harry’s face was priceless and she doubled over with unstoppable laughter. “Relax, Harry. I’m pretty sure she just said that to torture Fleur, the little bitch.”

 

            Harry gasped, a bubble of laughter escaping. “Ginevra Weasley! I can’t believe you said that!” He shook his head, beaming at her through his adorable glasses. Oh, he _was_ pretty. He picked up the bottle of Firewhiskey and took a drink. “Remind me not to get on your bad side.” He gave her a heart-stopping smile as he handed her the bottle.

 

            “You better believe it, Harry Potter! Watch yourself, you hear.” Ginny shot him her best flirtatious look before taking a dainty sip. Harry’s face registered a brief moment of panic. Poor boy, couldn’t flirt his way out of a paper bag. Well, she’d just have to teach him. For the sake of all wizard kind, that was.

 

            He looked down shyly and glanced back up at her with his breathtaking eyes. “No, thank you. Today was bad enough!” he said ardently. She smiled, basking in his wonderfulness as her latest drink of Firewhiskey worked its way through her veins.

 

            Ginny was feeling generous. She dipped her hand into the cake and pulled up a handful. She offered it to Harry in the manner that they had established earlier, when Ginny had declared that the forks were far too far away and Harry had gallantly offered her a handful.

 

            Now, Harry took Ginny’s offering readily, cradling her hand in both of his. “So, what else did you find out that was interesting?” he asked before leaning forward and taking a bite of cake out of her palm.

 

            “Um,” Ginny babbled. Trying to think with his hands around her wrist and his lips grazing her palm was a bit difficult. “Uh… Let’s see…Oh, Bill was talking to Adrianna and he called Charlie and Tonks their _exes_.” She grinned, proud of amount of interesting information she had gathered.

 

            Harry’s head jerked, leaving cake on the end of his nose. This sent Ginny into another fit of laughter. “What?” he asked but all she could do was point at his face. He reached up to brush his nose, but only made it worse. Both of their hands were full of cake. She laughed harder, as he pouted sweetly, “You could help me out here, Gin.”

 

            “Fine, fine, come here.”

 

            He leaned toward her and then she was delicately licking the icing and cake off his face…yum, sugar and Harry. He leaned back and smiled gratefully at her, making her heart and stomach do alternating flip-flops.

 

            “Thanks.”

 

            “Any time.” Oh god, did she just say that? She giggled some more. Apparently, that had become the only response she had for anything, multitudes of giggles.

 

            Ginny hummed happily, relaxing as Harry lazily finished eating the cake from her hand. Her mind wandered. “What do you suppose happened between Charlie and Adrianna? I bet it was _horribly_ romantic and _horribly_ tragic.”

 

            Harry snorted, finishing up by licking her thumb, sending shivers down her spine. “Don’t rightly know and don’t rightly care. I’m just glad it’s over.”

 

            This time when Ginny laughed, it was a laugh of disbelief. “Oh Harry, so naive. It is so _not_ over between Charlie and Adrianna.”

 

            “What do you mean? They said ‘exes.’ That means in the _past_.” He frowned at her, his lower lip protruding like a little boy. She remembered when she first saw him… Ginny shook her head to clear it.

 

            “Harry, they are so obviously still in love with one another!” Merlin’s balls, he was as daft as Ron. Cuter though. So, so much cuter.

 

            “No, they’re not!” he protested quickly.

 

            “Yes, they are!”

 

            “How do you know?”

 

            “Oh my god, it’s _so_ obvious.”

 

            Harry rolled his eyes and pouted some more. He swiped his finger through the cake sullenly. Ginny snickered at him. On impulse, she grabbed his hand and sucked the cake off the petulant finger. She bit it for fun, making Harry laugh.

 

             When his mood seemed to be taking an upward turn, Ginny smiled mischievously and continued, “And you know what else? I think Bill’s still in love with Tonks.”

 

            Harry laughed outright. “Now you’re just crazy.” He was smiling again, now that they were in safer territory. He took a handful of cake and offered it to her. “We’ve seen Bill and Tonks together tons of times. They barely acknowledge each other's existence.”

 

            “Exactly!” Ginny crowed triumphantly.

 

            “You’re mental,” Harry proclaimed. “Ow!” He yanked his hand back as she bit his thumb in punishment, but she wouldn’t let his hand go. It was _her_ cake after all.

 

            “Look, I know Weasley men. The way you can tell they are in love is the way they row with a girl.” She took a large bite of cake and licked her lips, reveling in the way that Harry’s eyes stared at her mouth.

 

            He huffed. “Like Ron and Hermione, you mean?”

 

            “Exactly like Ron and Hermione. Ron and Hermione, Mum and Dad, Charlie and Adrianna, Bill and Tonks… I’ve seen a couple of good rows between Fred and Angelina… George and Alicia, not so much. I don’t think she’s the girl for him.”

 

            Harry just laughed and shook his head, but there was admiration in is gaze. This was the best birthday _ever_.

 

            “All right then. What about you, Miss Weasley? Who do _you_ row with?” Harry asked smugly, though after he said it he looked almost panicked.

 

            Ginny grinned, if he thought he was going to unsettle her with that one… “I said Weasley men. _I_ am a Weasley woman. It’s different.”

 

            Harry scoffed. “Your Mum’s not so different.”

 

            “Mum falls into the category of ‘women Weasleys choose,’ not ‘Weasley born.’ So, she’s with Hermione and Angelina and Adrianna. _I_ , on the other hand, am in a category all my own.”

 

            Harry chuckled, “You certainly are.”

 

            Ginny happily went back to the cleaning of Harry’s palm. When she looked up from her task he was looking at her in a way that made her breath catch. He looked away when she met his gaze, clearing his throat and grabbing the bottle of Firewhiskey again. She thought he glanced at her mouth once or twice as he drank and handed her the bottle.

 

            She wondered if he wanted to kiss her. Oh god, wouldn’t _that_ be wonderful?

 

            “Um…” he muttered and cleared his throat again. “You didn’t open all your presents.”

 

            Ginny’s brow wrinkled. “Yes, I did.” She gestured around at the remnants.

 

            Harry shook his head. “Are you done with cake?” he asked and she nodded. Harry lifted up the cloak and carelessly pushed the cake out and across the floor, sending Ginny into another fit of giggles. What it must look like to the outside observer. A magically-appearing, flying, half-demolished cake and disembodied giggles in the middle of the kitchen. She giggled harder.

 

            Harry shifted closer to her and the laughter stopped abruptly. In fact, she thought her breathing stopped as well. He came close enough to her that their knees were touching. Oh god, he was going to kiss her. Oh god. Oh please…

 

            “You didn’t open my present.” From behind him, Harry produced a long, thin box.

 

            Ginny successfully suppressed a squeal of delight as she carefully took the box in her hand and untied the ribbon. She reverently lifted the top of the box. Her face warred between a confused frown and giddy amusement as she lifted two smooth sticks out of the box. Playfully, she tapped them together. “Aren’t these those things fool Muggles try to eat rice with?”

 

            Harry rolled his eyes. “ _No_. They are for your hair.” He lifted them out of her hands and demonstrated, holding them vertically and crossed. “Like this, I think. I’ve seen Adrianna wear them, it looks really pretty.” He placed them back in her hand and their fingers brushed. “I got them in Japan. Look, they’re hand painted…”

 

            “Wow, Harry…I…” Ginny didn’t know what to say. It was actually _really_ sweet and feminine and… He got her a girl gift. That meant something didn’t it?

 

            “And look at this,” he said eagerly. “They have symbols painted on them.” Harry lightly pointed to the Japanese characters. “This one’s loyalty. This one is courage. This one’s mischief…” He looked up at her knowingly and she giggled.

 

            “What’s that one?” Ginny pointed at the last one.

 

            Harry blushed, looking down. “I don’t remember. You should ask Adrianna. I think it was beauty or something.” He mumbled the last part, but Ginny heard. She felt like she must literally be glowing with happiness.

 

            “How does it work?” she asked eagerly holding them to her hair.

 

            “Um…” Harry mumbled looking at her hair and biting the inside of his cheek. Ginny thought she could die; he was so damn adorable. “I’m sorry, Ginny. When I bought them, you had longer hair. I’m not sure how it would work.”

 

            He reached up to touch the ends of her hair and then suddenly his hands were entwined in her hair completely, cupping the back of her head. He rubbed her neck and scalp. Ginny closed her eyes blissfully, letting her head fall forward. Encouraged, he massaged her for long minutes.

 

            Licking her lips, Ginny raised her head. His face was close. She had never wanted anything as badly as she wanted him to kiss her in that moment. She looked between his lips and his eyes, but soon his hands fell away, leaving her bereft.

 

            Ginny swallowed her disappointment and studied Harry’s shy expression. He kept glancing up at her and…. Maybe the boy just needed a little more encouragement. “We still have two flame fruit,” she whispered. “Can’t let them go to waste.”

 

            He looked up at her and Ginny swore she could feel the tension in the air, like magic itself surged between them. She had never felt anything like it. He gathered up the two remaining whole fruit and presented them to her like an offering. “Ok, birthday girl, it’s your day. Where do you want to have your last one?”

 

            Her breath caught. Was he really offering her…anywhere? His face was unreadable, but intense. Anywhere? She didn’t dare suggest they go ‘all the way’ like Adrianna and Bill. Did she? What she really wanted was to spray it on his lips and kiss it away. But that was too bold. It gave away too much of her feelings. She couldn’t excuse it if he didn’t want…

 

            In the end, Ginny split the difference. She leaned forward and placed the tip of her finger in the hollow of his throat. “Here.”

 

            She could feel him swallow under her finger and his voice squeaked just a tad when he said, “Ok.”

 

            Ginny groped for the bottle. She couldn’t tell which of them were more thrown off by the sudden tension between them. She took a long swallow to bolster her courage and was amazed to see how little liquid remained.

 

            Wow, they had gone through almost an entire bottle between them. The twins would be proud. She giggled at the thought, making it rather difficult to stand the bottle upright. Thankfully, Harry was able to steady it before it spilled.

 

            Looking at his hands, she remembered her task and lifted a fruit from his palm. She had to blink to clear her vision as she looked at his throat once again. Ginny groped at the top button of her shirt. “Don’t want to get your nice new shirt dirty. What would ‘Drana say?”

 

            Harry answered with a low chuckle and Ginny ran her hand over the raw green silk with admiration. She loved the feel of the muscle underneath. She came up onto her knees for balance but still found herself falling toward him. She unwittingly placed a hand on his crossed thigh to stay steady. Carefully, she squeezed her last fruit onto his skin and watched him take a deep breath, the juice dribbling… Oh yeah, she was supposed to drink.

 

            Ginny leaned forward and closed her mouth over the coated area, dipping her tongue into the hollow, sucking and lapping up the juice at the same time. This was her last chance, had to make the most of it. She felt the vibrations in his throat, as he hummed…with pleasure?

            His hand fluttered against the back of her hair in indecision, before giving in and gripping the back of her neck firmly. Ginny followed the juice as far down his shirt as she dared, feeling dizzy and warm as bliss filled her brain with fluffy, happy clouds.

 

            She pulled back, inches from his face. Silently, she dared him to kiss her. Ginny breathed against his face as she spoke. “Your turn.”

 

            Harry’s gulp was audible. Then he reached over and grabbed the bottle of Firewhiskey. Tilting his head all the way back Ginny watched in awe as he downed every last drop. Shite, it was sexy.

 

            “I can’t believe you finished it,” she said incredulously.

 

            He grinned at her. “I can’t believe _we_ finished it,” Harry countered, licking his lips. He looked nervous. “Anywhere I want?” he asked, rolling the fruit through his fingers.

 

            Why not? “Anywhere,” Ginny said breathlessly, suddenly afraid of where he would pick, which was absurd, really. The boy wouldn’t kiss her. Did she really think he was going to get cheeky now?

 

            He curled his rough hand around her neck again, playing with the curls at the end of her hair. He seemed to like that. She congratulated herself on her choice of haircut.

 

            “I want…here,” he said, voice husky. Ginny shook her head in confusion and gave him her ‘you’ve gone mental’ look, but he just smiled. “Lean down.” He gently urged her head forward and brushed the hair away from her skin. She felt his rough hand caress the back of her neck and spine, sending shivers through her.

            “You’re a strange bloke, Harry Potter,” she teased, but the edge wasn’t there. She couldn’t catch her breath. She was so bloody turned on. By his hands. On her neck. Only that. Wow.

            “Just figuring that out now?” he joked in the same breathless tone.

            She felt the cold gush of fruit juice on her spine immediately replaced with the warm….oh god, oh god. His mouth closed over her. He dragged his lips over her nape, ran them down her spine, one hand resting firmly on the small of her back, as his talented lips traveled back up to her hairline.

            Ginny had never felt anything so overtly sensual in her life. “Harry,” she moaned.

            He pulled away. “Ginny,” he whispered, gasping for breath. She tossed her hair back and looked up at him. “Ginny…” His hand curled around the back of her neck. “G…” Harry’s head was moving toward her. Then their lips were a breath apart. Her eyelids fluttered shut. She could feel his gasping breaths against her lips.

            After long moments, she heard him ask, “Ginny?”

            “Hmm?”

            “Um…do you know what would be really fun right now?”

            A nice snog perhaps? “What?”

            “A good fly.”

            “What?” Her eyes snapped open, just as Harry hauled her to her feet. She frowned with disappointment. “What are you talking about?” she whined.

            “Let's go get our brooms and go flying,” he said eagerly, wrapping his arm around her waist to steady them both.

            How were they going to fly if they couldn’t even stand? Still, having him pressed this close was dissipating her annoyance.

            “Harry,” she said with exasperation, “we’re inside.”

            “So what?”

            So what, indeed? Ginny thought about it a minute and looked up into Harry’s smiling eyes. He had both arms wrapped around her now, and she was leaning lightly against his chest. “All right then.”

 

 

 

                                                * * * * * *

  


 

            Hermione was intoxicated, in every possible definition of the term. Liquid fire warmed and numbed her mind, making it impossible for her to do anything but concentrate on the sight and feel of the hands and lips now worshiping her.

            That’s what it felt like, worship. She had never felt so desired, so wanted. She couldn’t take her eyes off the sight of her and Ron, together, in the mirror. She needed to burn the memory of him touching her into what was left of her sodden brain forever. Ron pushed the bra straps down her arms, causing her breath to hitch. She was watching him undress her. Oh my.

 

            Ron dragged his lips over her shoulders, and she fought against the urge to close her eyes. Hermione needed to watch his hands, watch them as they ran back up her arms, over her shoulders, down the front of her chest. Her breathing stopped completely as she watched his hands enter the satin bra she had bought thinking of him. He pushed it back.

 

            Slowly, the air left Hermione’s lungs. Seeing Ron’s strong, masculine hands cup her was….was….

 

            “Beautiful,” he murmured.

 

            Yeah, beautiful. Hermione had never felt so beautiful. He was beautiful. _They_ were beautiful. She was so grateful to Ron for making her feel this way. The love she felt for him at that moment was overwhelming. His thumbs brushed against the edge of her areola and she couldn’t contain a moan as pleasure filled her already humming body. He squeezed her. It was too amazing.

 

             “How can you not see how beautiful you are?” Ron whispered in her ear, his warm breath alive on her neck.

 

            In a voice so deep, she hardly recognized it as her own, Hermione whispered, “In your hands…in your hands, I see…It’s beautiful.”

 

            Ron buried his face in her hair and he continued his adulation of her breasts, as if he were memorizing the feel, as if it meant as much to him as it did her. Love, lust, and intoxication warred for control of her body. Ron squeezed the tip of her breast and she knew only one thing. She needed more of him, needed him so very badly.

 

            Hermione turned in his arms, frantically grabbing for Ron, needing to be closer, needing to taste him. She pulled his mouth to hers with all the ardor within her, reveling in how easily he met her, his mouth already open and welcoming her tongue, moaning and pulling her to him. Hermione sucked at his tongue and lips, wanting to make him a part of her. She dug her nails into his shoulders, needing to mark him as hers.

 

            Hers. If only for tonight he was hers and she thanked whoever created Firewhiskey and flame fruit for making her brain forget how to obsess over the fact that it wouldn’t last. That tomorrow he would belong only to himself.

 

            Hermione could feel the satin silkiness of Ron’s shirt against her nipples and it felt incredible. She ran her hands over the smooth expanse of material, feeling the muscles defined underneath. Suddenly, she needed to feel those muscles against her breasts, needed to feel the warm skin and the light dusting of red hair. She slipped her hands under and pushed it off with as much finesse as she could manage while his talented tongue tangled with hers.

 

            Finally, the shirt was gone and Ron was crushing her against him with even more force than before. His chest hair rubbed against her nipples. Oh god. He was massaging her back. But there was something still between them. Her under wire pinched at the underside of her breasts. She _needed_ there to be nothing between them.

 

            “Wait,” Hermione forced herself to push away from him, “it pinches.”

 

            With his help, Hermione divested herself of the offending garment as fast as she could. It seemed as if it took forever, but at last she was pressed back against him and she could feel all of him, from his tongue touching the back of her throat to what she now knew was his erection pressed tightly against her belly through the thin material of her skirt. All of him. Ron’s hand snuck between them to close around her breast and suddenly this wasn’t enough, either. She needed his mouth on her.

 

            Wow, where had _that_ thought come from? She really had become a wanton. Hermione was surprised to realize, that in that moment, she didn’t even care if she was the biggest floozy in Britain.

 

            “Wait,” she cried again, having remembered the fallen cluster of flame fruit. Couldn’t let them go to waste.

 

            “Wha… Hermione…” Ron whined as Hermione pulled herself out of his arms and collected the treasure along with the bottle of liquid courage from the floor. She threw him a smile. Heavens, she loved his… _enthusiasm._

 

            She felt dizzy as she stood back up and needed to lean against the short chest of drawers to support herself. Her eyes raked Ron’s half-naked form. God, he astounded her. He was looking at her with pure lust in his eyes. He really did make her feel beautiful. Hermione should never have doubted him.

 

            Feeling nervous now that she wasn’t touching him, she took another long drought of Firewhiskey to bolster her nerve before taking a piece of flame fruit and rolling it in her hand. She felt more blatantly sexual than she had ever felt in her life. Hermione took a deep breath before squeezing the juice onto her nipple in unconcealed invitation.

 

            “’Mione,” Ron growled. Heavens, how she loved when he called her that. It sounded like ‘mine.’ She wanted to be his. He grabbed her around her waist and lifted her onto the chest with a sure, quick move. She felt a stronger flash of warmth in her abdomen. Why was it he caused that in her?

 

            She saw his mouth descending on her and she smiled. Ron was always so impatient. Hermione pushed him back.

 

            “What?” he asked with exasperation.

 

            “You forgot to drink,” she reminded him.

 

            “God, love, I don’t need any more Firewhiskey. I just need you.”

 

            Oh my, well he certainly didn’t have to drink anything if he didn’t want to….oh god, oh god….

 

            Hermione’s head lolled back as she felt his lips and tongue trace over her breast, removing all traces of fruit juice. Ron’s hands were clutching her thighs and she opened them to allow him closer to her. Hermione pulled him to her with one hand splayed on his back and the other twined in his thick hair.

 

            She cried out as he took her nipple entirely in his mouth. She felt the flat of his tongue against the underside, just before he sucked. Then all she felt was fire. A sharp jolt of electricity, like she had felt the other night but stronger, shot from the tip of her breast to the juncture of her thighs. Hermione could feel her knickers clinging to her uncomfortably.

 

            “Ron,” she all but screamed and he clutched her thighs almost painfully and sucked harder on her nipple. Endless moans fell from her throat. Her calves hooked around his thighs pulling him closer still, and Hermione felt the hand on her thighs inch upwards, bringing her skirt with it.

 

            He flicked his tongue over her tip, and the pleasure it caused was painful in its intensity. “God! Ron. Ron. What’s happening? Ron, what are you doing to me?”

 

            Ron’s mouth fell from her with an audible pop, his auburn lashes fluttered as they looked up at her. His eyes were the deepest blue. “Hmmm?” he responded placing a reverent open mouthed kiss on the swell of her breast.

 

             Hermione couldn’t believe the questions were actually voiced, but she couldn’t help the words from emerging from her mouth. “What’s happening to me, Ron? When you do that I get this sensation…the most amazing sensation.”

 

            Ron smiled lazily against her, peppering her with more kisses. “What kind of sensation?” His thumbs traced circles on her thighs.

 

            She swallowed, her throat thick. “It’s like…like a bolt of lightning starting at my…my breasts and traveling down…”

 

            “Where?” he asked with a wet kiss between her breasts. “Show me.”

 

            Show him? She couldn’t… Though her hand was already moving, on it’s own accord, threading out of his hair, tentatively touching her belly. Ron leaned back to watch her, his breathing heavy. “Here,” she slid her hand as low as she dared, showing him the place that rested over her knickers.

 

            Ron groaned loudly. “Bloody hell, Hermione! I…hell!” He kissed her hard on the mouth, and then fervently ran his mouth over her jaw and throat.

 

            Hermione sighed, pleased with his reaction. Except she didn’t understand it. He wasn’t answering her question. “Ron. Ron, what is it? Why do I feel that way? Is there something wrong with me?”

 

            A breath of a laugh danced along her collarbone. “God, love, no. It’s normal, I promise. You’re supposed to feel that way.” Ron’s mouth was quickly traveling to her other breast.

 

            “But how do you know?” she gasped, clutching his head again. “I keep feeling these things. I don’t understand it. It’s like I want something, but I don’t know what. How can that be normal?”

 

            He finally pulled back and looked into her eyes with a serious expression, though his breathing was still coming in spurts. “God, Hermione. Don’t you…? Haven’t you ever…? You know….”

 

            Hermione gave him an expression that could leave no doubt that she did _not_ know. Ron frowned. “You know…touched yourself?”

 

            She still didn’t understand and shook her head in foggy confusion. Ron looked like he might beat around the bush a bit more, but the Firewhiskey seemed to make him as brave and impatient as it made her. “Masturbated, Hermione. Have you ever masturbated?”

 

            Her eyes widened. Masturbated? Isn’t that something only men did? How would a woman even…? Hermione shook her head, frowning.

 

            Ron cupped her face, tracing her cheeks with his thumbs, the look on his face one of… she couldn’t place it. “That’s just arousal, love.” He grinned lopsidedly at her. “It just means we’re doing something right.”

 

            “Oh…” He cut her off with long, slow, reverent kisses. She reveled in the caring that flowed from him. She could almost pretend that he loved her.

 

            When finally his mouth again began its trail down her body, she was able to think again. Well a bit. Masturbate. To pleasure oneself… in a sexual manner. Not something she had often thought about. It was not something a good girl thought about, let alone…

            “Ron? Do you masturbate?”

 

            He chuckled against her skin once more. She could feel more than see the nod he gave her as he continued with the open-mouthed trail to her neglected breast.

 

            “How?” she asked and this time the sound against her breast was more of a choked sound. “I mean…I would assume you touch yourself…down there.” She could feel herself blush redder and redder.

 

            “Yeah,” he breathed, “that’s the general idea.”

 

            “Then what?”

 

            He pulled away slightly. “Then what?”

 

            “What happens? Do these crazy, warm, tingling feelings…do they go somewhere? Does something else happen?”

 

            Ron frowned, looking at her like a difficult puzzle to be solved. “Well, eventually you come.”

 

            “Come? Oh, you mean, like ejaculate?”

 

            He cracked a smile and glanced away from her, when he looked back at her… Well, she almost mistook his expression for adoration. “Yeah, pretty much.”

 

            “Oh.” Ejaculate. The expulsion of sperm. “And that feels good?”

 

            “Yeah, you could say that.” He pulled her closer again, hugging her to him, smiling at her and kissing the tip of her nose.

 

            “And all it takes is touching yourself?” Hermione asked in a whisper, looking into his eyes. They were so close their noses touched.

 

            Ron nodded, rubbing her nose with his as he did so. “Though, usually a fantasy helps.”

 

            “Oh. Oh, so you think about something then.” Or someone… “What do you think about?

 

            Ron pulled back again, looking ever so serious. “You. I think about you.”

 

            Hermione thought her heart just broke and fixed itself again. All questions left her and she pulled his head back down to hers. She wanted to tell Ron she loved him, but she couldn’t, so she tried to show him instead.

 

            Her slow, loving kisses quickly turned frantic, but maybe that was how she loved him…. frantically… passionately… crazily… against all reason.

 

            They were clutching and groping again. Her hands kneaded his back in time with their wild kisses. Ron squeezed her thighs, finally pushing up her skirt until the bulge in his trousers came into direct contact with her knickers. Hermione’s gasp was lost in his mouth as her legs moved up, involuntarily, wrapping tightly around his waist. Oh god. The sensation, there was nothing like it.

 

            Ron’s hands left her thighs, one splayed over her lower back and bum, holding her to him. As if she was going anywhere. The other reached up to knead her breast rhythmically.

 

            Sensation took over her. There was no thought. There was nothing but his body and hers and this frantic _need_ inside her. His hips rubbed against hers and suddenly she was moving in time with him. As if they had found an ancient rhythm that she didn’t understand and couldn’t stop, didn’t want to stop. It felt like these feelings inside her had finally found where they were supposed to go.

 

            Hermione whimpered as she felt his hips pull back from hers. Then she felt his whole body step away, his lips being the last thing to leave. “Come back,” she moaned, reaching for him.

 

            “God, sweetheart, you’re going to kill me,” he panted.

 

            Ron didn’t look as though he was in pain. He looked gorgeous. She pulled him back with her feet. “Ron,” she moaned, “I need you.” She pulled his head back.

 

            Groaning, he kissed her, once, twice. She struggled to get his hips back where they belonged. Three times. “Hermione, you don’t understand. If we don’t stop---”

 

            “I don’t want to stop,” she cried. “I liked what we were doing.”

 

            “Hermione, love… I swear---” She arched off the chest and succeeded in making contact between their hips again. They both groaned. “Damn it, Hermione, if we don’t stop, I’m going to _come_.”

 

            “Oh…ok,” she pulled his mouth back and sucked on his tongue.

 

            Groaning, he pulled back. “Please, Hermione, I’m going to embarrass myself.”

 

            “No, you won’t.” Hermione shook her head frantically. If anyone should be embarrassed it was her. She was practically begging. But it didn’t matter. “Ron, I need you. Whatever you were doing…we were doing. It’s finally easing the pain. Please, please, please…”

 

            Ron’s next groan was an obvious groan of acquiescence and he leaned into kissing her with a more appropriate gusto. Hermione felt his arms encircle her as his hand slipped under her bum and lifted her. She wrapped herself around him more tightly, clinging to him as Ron picked her up off the chest.

 

            “What you do to me, ‘Mione,” Ron murmured against her neck as he laid her down on her bed. Hovering above her, he met her eyes. “I’d do anything for you, did you know that?”

 

            Hermione didn’t know what to say, but that was fine because his lips were on hers once again. She tried to pull his hips back to her, but he held them away from her, instead inserting a thigh firmly between her legs. With a hand on her bum, he urged her to move against him. It was almost as good and her head fell back as she called out his name in a formless litany.

 

            He worshiped her exposed neck, working his way down and nearly bending in two to keep his thigh in place and take her nipple in his mouth. “Ron!” Her hips were working frantically. His hand, encouraging her, lay directly on the smooth material of her knickers, her skirt bunched around her waist. The tingling pleasure built and built…still it wasn’t enough.

 

            Hermione pushed back at his thigh and grabbed at his hips. “I need---”

 

            “Hermione---” he pleaded.

 

            “Ron. It doesn’t matter. I don’t care. I want you to…to come.”

 

            A growl tore from his throat and Ron silenced her with his tongue in her mouth. Finally, finally he shifted his hips where Hermione wanted them. She could feel his entire weight pressing into her. It was better than before. His hips ground into hers and she let that ancient rhythm take over, pushing against him with everything she had.

 

            The tingling sensation had progressed to heady, rolling waves of pleasure and she found herself arching her back. Her lips fell away from his, no longer able to concentrate enough to kiss him. Her mind was starting to go delightfully blank. She should be scared but it felt…so good.

 

             Ron’s lips pressed roughly against her face. Not a kiss, just there. It took all her concentration to make out his words. “Hermione. ’Mione. Mine.”

 

            Ron’s hardness was pressed intimately against her. It was almost as if his skin was touching hers. He rubbed against her, each thrust sending new waves of sensation. It was too much…and it kept coming…again and again, unlike anything she had ever experienced. Starting at the place where they were pressed so tightly together and traveling to the very tip of every nerve ending in her body.

 

             Slowly, Hermione lost all control over her body. It was terrifying and liberating all at once. All that was left was the pressure and the grinding of him against her. Her hips carrying on the rhythm all on their own. Her throat relaxed, unable to form words, to even cry his name. Sounds that she didn’t comprehend emerged.

 

            Oh god oh god oh god. The smoothness of his hand clutching her bum, the harsh friction of his trousers against her knickers. The grinding. The pulsing. A harsh scream tore from her throat as the feeling exploded. Her muscles released and clenched in succession, quivering with pleasure.

 

            Calming waves of bliss flowed over her. Every muscle in her body relaxed in increments and until they felt as if they had been liquified. Hermione became aware of her breath slowing. Her mind was cloudy with pleasure. Ron lay loosely on top of her, panting in her ear. She felt him acutely between her thighs. The hardness was gone. Now there was only stickiness and wetness.

            Hermione’s mind started to clear. Despite the alcohol that was still heavy in her system, she felt clearer then she had in days. That crazy buzz, the tingling need she felt whenever she was with Ron was gone and all that remained was languid warmth.

 

            She opened her eyes and blinked up at Ron as he lifted his head and smiled at her. Oh god, what had just happened? What had she done? What kind of girl was she?

 

            Even as Ron pressed his lips to hers in a brief, tender kiss, the room was starting to spin. Hermione closed her eyes tightly against the spinning. Ron climbed off her, causing the bed to lurch. She was suddenly _very_ aware of the Firewhiskey in her system. More specifically, in her stomach.

 

            Hermione heard Ron cast a cleansing charm and her thighs felt dry. The world kept revolving, even with her eyes closed. She tried to sit up and felt bile rise in her throat and had to swallow it down. Hermione looked around madly for her shirt. Not seeing it, she reached for Ron’s.

 

            “Hey, are you ok?” She heard the concern in his voice, but was unable to look up to see his face.

 

            Hermione shook her head and instantly regretted the move as the nausea heightened. “Loo,” she managed. Ron helped her with his shirt as he lifted the Imperturbable.

 

            She bolted out the door, clutching the front of his shirt closed, too hurried for buttons. Hermione fell to her knees in front of the toilet as every drop of Firewhiskey left in her stomach came back up. Humiliation washed over her. What must Ron think of her now?

            That was when Hermione felt his soothing hands on her face, pulling back her hair as she purged herself. It made the embarrassment worse, but she was eternally grateful all the same. “It’s ok, sweetheart. It’s ok,” he whispered in her ear.

 

            When finally she sat up, tears where running down her face and Ron wiped them away. He performed a spell to clean her face and hair. Weakness filled her and she found herself curled in his lap. Exhaustion like she never felt before claimed her as Ron stroked her hair.

 

            Hermione felt oddly comfortable with her head on his lap, as she lay on the cold floor. She knew they had to move before she fell asleep. “Ron, I want to… We need to… Can we go to your room?”

 

            She felt a soft kiss to her temple. “Anything, love, anything.”

  
  
  


                                                            * * * * *

 

 

 

            “Watch out!”

 

            Ginny’s yell jerked Harry out of his daze. He ducked just as the Golden Snitch was about to hit his forehead. It ruffled his hair instead and the sudden movement caused Harry to lurch back and forth on his broomstick. Ginny looked on, laughing merrily at the extreme difficulty he was having righting himself in his drunken state.

 

            Of course, Ginny’s laughter upset her balance as well and she rocked on Ron’s Cleansweep, causing the situation that had distracted him in the first place to become infinitely worse. The mesmerizing sweep of her black skirt floating around her gave him a glimpse of creamy, smooth freckled thighs. Whoa.

 

            She must have caught sight of the Snitch because she shot forward over the boxes that littered the attic floor. The dress flew around her along with Harry’s shirt. He never should have given it to her.

 

            Ginny had complained of feeling a chill. Harry had been increasingly warm due to the Firewhiskey and the effects of his proximity to the very dress that was giving Ginny the chill. So, Harry stripped to his t-shirt and dress trousers, giving her his new shirt as an extra layer.

            His ulterior motive of hiding the mind-numbing creamy skin of her shoulders and chest backfired. It seemed that Harry had never seen anything sexier than Ginny Weasley, on a broomstick, red hair tousled and black skirt swirling, _his_ shirt flapping open and slipping off a shoulder.

 

            Harry could still remember the soft, seductive look in her eyes when he had first handed the shirt over to her. The urge to touch her again overcame him. Oh god, he was in _so_ much trouble.

 

            Ginny reached her hand out as the Snitch turned abruptly. She leaned sharply to the side and caused the broom to roll. Soon, she was hanging upside down and laughing uproariously, singing, “I got it. I got it.”

 

            Harry almost fell off his broom when he caught sight of her knickers. He closed his eyes against the temptation. Though only _after_ he got a good long look. His reactions seemed to be a bit slow at the moment.

 

            He chanced a peek when he heard her voice. Harry breathed a sigh of relief when he realized she had righted herself.

 

            “Seems you have a bit of competition for the best Gryffindor Seeker, ah? Maybe _you_ should be the one to tryout for the Chaser position this year,” she teased.

 

            Ginny was glowing. Literally glowing. It must be magic or something, because Harry couldn’t take his eyes off of her. How the bloody hell was he supposed to catch the Snitch with a distraction like this?

 

            He beamed up at her like an idiot. Harry just couldn’t seem to help himself. “But Ginny, you’re a much better Chaser than I could ever be. It would be for the good of the team.”

 

            She laughed and tossed her head. “But then I’d have to tryout. What if I don’t make it?”

 

            “Well,” Harry bit his lip. Hard. “Then...I’ll just tell Katie that if they don’t take you, I quit. She won’t have either one of us.’

 

            Ginny was laughing again. He was not going to kiss her. He was not going to kiss her. He was _not_ going to kiss her. Three close calls were enough. He had to stay away.

 

            “Why, Harry Potter, I do believe you’re getting better at this.”

 

            Harry frowned. Better at what?

 

            Ginny held up the Snitch. “Ready to have another go?”

 

            He could only nod. Harry took a deep, relieved breath and tried to clear his head. Ginny opened her hand and the Snitch jerked out. This time it seemed to be on a mission. It shot directly toward the door and zoomed out the crack they had left open.

 

            Harry watched as Ginny quickly flew past him and out the door. He rushed to catch up and quickly overtook her on his much faster broom. The thrill that he always felt when he was flying was over laid with the Firewhiskey and flame fruit-happiness he was already feeling. He laughed as they zoomed through the hallways and down the stairs, one floor after the other.

 

            He barely recognized that they had reached the first floor until he heard Ginny cry, “Harry, don’t let it go down to the party!”

 

            Harry jerked his broomstick, narrowly avoiding whizzing down the stairs and entering the foyer. He lunged his arm out to grab the Snitch as he turned. Normally, he could have handled the move easily. Normally, Harry would have caught the Snitch. Normally, he didn’t have half a bottle of Firewhiskey in his system.

 

            He missed the Snitch, tumbled off his broomstick, and caught Ginny’s on the way to the ground. There was a loud crash. Harry ended up flat on his back on the hallway floor with Ginny half-sprawled out on top of him.

 

            Ginny was having trouble sitting up as result of the tangled limbs and alcohol induced clumsiness. She slipped and suddenly her lips were right _there_. Harry couldn’t stand it anymore. Fate was conspiring against him. It was one temptation too many and he was weak. _So_ weak. He just _had_ to kiss her.

 

            She wrenched her head back at the sounds of thudding footsteps on the stairs. There was the distinctive call of Harry’s cousin’s voice as she incanted the words that activated the sobering potion she had taken earlier. “ _Esthrikia”_

 

Then a random Weasley yelled, “What the hell is going on here?”

 

            For Harry, there was a brief moment of shock and panic as the faces of Adrianna and three of Ginny’s brothers came hazily into view. Then to his horror, Ginny burst into uncontrollable laughter. She doubled in two and buried her face in Harry’s chest with raucous hysterics.

 

            Harry kept his lips pressed together as tightly as he could and willed himself to appreciate the seriousness of the situation….but it was all so…funny…

 

            All there was left to do was put an arm around Ginny’s back and give in as he laughed so hard that tears rolled down his cheeks. Harry could barely make out what was being said over him.

 

            “They’re completely pissed.”

 

            “No shite, Fred.”

 

            “Bill, I can’t believe you would give our baby sister wine, just so you could party.”

 

            “Charlie! God fucking damn it, you know I didn’t….You wanker!”

 

            Bill just called Charlie a wanker! Harry laughed harder.

 

            Adrianna came into focus above as she knelt above him. “You might not have given them the _Firewhiskey_ that is obviously on their breath, but I also smell the very distinct fragrance of _flame fruit_.” She turned and glared at Bill.

 

            “What! I told her not to… You were _there_!”

 

            “You were using flame fruit!” Charlie’s voice was furious. “I can’t believe… No wonder!” There was the sound of a scuffle and when Harry looked up. Charlie…that was Charlie, wasn’t it? They were all kind of blurry… had grabbed the tall guy, who must have been Bill, by his collar and had lifted him off the ground.

 

            “God damn, you two, haven’t we had enough of _that_! You both sober up this instant!” Adrianna hollered, in a very good Mrs. Weasley impression.

 

            Charlie dropped Bill. “Adrianna, if he---”

 

            “Oh, for god’s sake Charlie! It was nothing. Will you just please---”

 

            “Fine. _Esthrikia.”_

 

“Thank you!” She turned to stare at the tall guy who was clutching his throat. “Bill! Now would be good.”

 

            “I don’t have to---”

 

            “Bill, I swear to god I will hex you into next Tuesday---”

 

            “ _Esthrikia.”_

 

“Whipped!” Fred laughed.

 

            “Why aren’t you yelling at Fred---”

 

            “Because I don’t care what Fred does,” Adrianna countered.

 

            Someone laughed again. Harry guessed it was Fred. “Well, you are the chaperone, big brother. While I---”

 

            “Are practically a child yourself---” she continued.

 

            “Hey!”

 

            “---and a good twelve years younger than you, Bill. I mean, really.” Adrianna shook her head and turned back to Harry touching his face. “Are you ok, Harry?”

 

            Was he ok? Harry thought about it. There was a warm, fuzzy feeling throughout his brain, a delicious relaxation in all of his muscles and the solid pleasure of Ginny Weasley pressed against him.

 

            “I’m good.”

 

            Ginny giggled at his words, setting off the cascade within him again. Adrianna frowned and slumped next to him. “I’m the worst guardian ever.”

 

            “No, you’re not,” Charlie protested gently, and then turned to his brother. “ _This_ is entirely Bill’s fault.”

 

            “How is it my fault?”

 

            “You were in charge.”

 

            Adrianna ignored the bickering brothers, stating absently. “Your mother was right. Who in their right mind would make _me_ Harry’s guardian?”

 

            Harry shook his head rapidly, making himself dizzy. “No. No, you’re the best guardian. Really.”

 

            “Yeah,” Ginny slurred, attempting to sit up. “And the party is just _loooovely_.” But the delicious girl couldn’t right herself and flopped back down on the floor, laughing at her own clumsiness. “Harry,” she called grasping for his arm and finding it. “Is the room spinning?”

 

            For some reason, Harry found that hysterically funny.

 

            “You won’t be laughing for long,” Adrianna warned. “Your punishment is that no one is allowed to give you a sobering charm.”

 

            “That’s their punishment?” Fred said with disgust. “Can I have you for a guardian as well?”

 

            “Or a hangover potion… or anything whatsoever that will lessen _any_ of the effects of the alcohol. You get to feel ever _bit_ of your first drinking binge.” She looked up at the brothers. “Is that clear?’

 

            Harry didn’t hear their responses, something odd was happening. Oh, was that the spinning Ginny was talking about?

 

            “Where are Ron and Hermione?” Adrianna asked.

 

            Ginny, who had grown strangely quiet, suddenly let out a bark of laughter. “They really, _really_ enjoyed the flame fruit.”

 

            “Really, really.” Harry agreed, reaching for Ginny’s hand and grasping it. Maybe she could stop the room from rotating.

 

            “Fuck!” Bill exclaimed.

 

            Fred laughed heartily. “If there are the pitter patter of little feet nine months from now, Mum’s sure to blame you, Bill.”

 

            “Shite, he’s right,” Bill muttered. “’Drana, find them.”

 

            “What? No way! I don’t want to feel _that_.”

 

            “I’m sure it’s too late to stop them by now anyway, Bill,” Charlie said evilly, clapping his older brother on the back.

 

            “Probably basking in the afterglow by now,” Fred agreed.

 

            “Enough of all of you. I’m sure they’re…not that foolish.” Adrianna interrupted. “Bill, go downstairs and tell your guests that the party is over.”

 

            “But---”

 

            “Go!”

            Bill disappeared down the steps. “Can you two help me get these kids out of the hallway?” she asked Charlie and Fred. Adrianna leaned over and grasped Ginny under her arms. “Come on, Ginny.”

            “’Drana, I don’t feel so good,” Ginny said, weakly stumbling to her feet.

 

            “I know, sweetie, let’s get you to the bathroom.”

 

            Harry watched their blurry forms fade away. Charlie knelt over him. “Let’s get you up, Harry.”

 

            Harry tried to focus as he struggled to sit up. He frowned through his churning stomach. “Charlie, is that a black eye?”

 

            That was Harry’s last thought before, without warning, he retched all over the older man’s jeans.

 

            Later, Harry would enjoy the irony.

  
  
  


                                                * * * * *


	29. Morning After

            When Ron had tucked Hermione into his bed he had been dead tired. He had half-carried her steadily more comatose form up the stairs and helped her into bed. He had buttoned up the buttons to his shirt, most of them anyway, and slipped off her skirt. By then, she had been snoring softly, making him chuckle.

 

            Climbing into bed next to her, Ron had relished having Hermione back in his bed. Soon the Firewhiskey in his system drew him into unconsciousness. He was unable to fight the exhaustion even to look at her.

 

            He thought he slept for ten minutes. Maybe.

 

            For the two or so hours since then, Ron stared at the ceiling…or stared at Hermione. But at the moment, he was staring at the ceiling. He was exhausted, but he had never felt so wide awake. His mind wouldn’t stop going. He turned over the events of the last twenty-four hours.

 

            Mostly, he was grateful at how things had worked out. Ron had never had so much fun in his life. Shite, he’d actually given Hermione an orgasm. Her first, if he wasn’t mistaken. It was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

 

            Yet, somehow his body wouldn’t relax enough to let him enjoy it. Worries raced through his mind. What if he’d taken advantage of her? Had he selfishly taken a piece of her innocence that he had no right to? Had he pushed the limits of Practice way too far? How were they ever going to go back to being just friends? How was he?

 

            He couldn’t stand the restless thoughts; they were driving him mad. He flipped over on his side to look at her. She was facing him, looking more innocent than she would ever _be_ again. As Ron looked at her perfect form, he felt like he was both dying inside and only alive when he was with her. How did that make sense?

 

            Ron reached out, unable to stop himself, and ran his hand over her side. His satiny shirt hugged her curves perfectly, made them feel like heaven under his palm. He could make out the relaxed form of her nipple under the shirt. She was so heart-breakingly desirable. He just couldn’t understand how she could think otherwise.

 

            He was going to wake her if he kept this up. He couldn’t do that, she looked too peaceful, but he couldn’t stay here any longer. Ron cracked open the curtains and peaked out. Harry wasn’t in his bed.

 

            Desperate for a distraction, Ron climbed out of bed to go see if Harry, or anyone else for that matter, was still up. Immediately upon opening his bedroom door he could hear raucous laughter coming from the room across the hall. He carefully slipped out and closed the door so that no noise would disturb Hermione’s slumber. Ron crept over and knocked softly on Adrianna’s door.

 

            “Who goes there?” Fred called, causing giggles to erupt. Ron figured it was safe to enter and opened the door.

 

            Ron didn’t know what he expected to find on the other side of the door, but the image of Harry, Ginny, Adrianna, Charlie, Fred, and Angelina all sprawled out on Adrianna’s bed was a bit odd to say the least.

 

            “Oy, you wait for permission before you enter---” Fred called out again, from over Angelina’s shoulder where she was lounged between his legs.

 

            “Shut it, Fred,” Angelina interrupted.

 

            “Come on in, Ron,” Adrianna invited from her position against the headboard. Ron climbed onto the bed and sat cross-legged at the foot, near Harry and Ginny. He watched the scene with cautious amusement.

 

            “Ugh, Ron! Don’t jostle the bed so much,” Harry called, clutching his stomach and causing Ginny to giggle. “It’s not funny,” he said sullenly, before giggling himself.

 

            “You two are sickening,” Fred called with disgust. Ron had to agree. What was with the hysterics? He had never before seen Harry _giggle_.

 

            “What I don’t understand,” Ginny managed through her laughter, “is how I can feel so sick and so… happy at the same time.”

 

            Charlie snorted from his position flat on his back with his hands behind his head. “That’s the bloody flame fruit, doesn’t wear off quite as easily as alcohol….or reverse with _Esthrikia.”_ Adrianna stifled a giggle. “See.” He rolled his eyes, but looked up at her with great affection.

 

            “Party’s over then?” Ron asked. This was all so bizarre, he kind of wished Hermione were there. She’d enjoy analyzing the situation.

 

            “What are you talking about, mate? This _is_ the party.” The three imbibers of flame fruit found Fred’s joke very funny.

 

            Ron frowned.  “Why don’t I feel all giggly?” he asked Adrianna.

 

            She shook her head and shrugged. Then her eyes widened and she looked down at Charlie who was grinning at her from her hip. She burst out laughing. Uh oh, maybe Ron shouldn’t have asked.

 

            It was Charlie who finally answered. “Well, little brother, as flame fruit is among other things, an aphrodisiac. There is only one sure-fired way to break the spell early.”

 

            “Bloody hell! Ickle Ronnikins got shagged!” Fred said in awe.

 

            Harry’s head shot up. “You did not!”

 

            “No! No, I swear…I… No,” Ron blubbered.

 

            Ron definitely should not have said anything. He met Harry’s horrified gaze and shook his head frantically. “I swear,” he implored.

 

            “Relax,” Adrianna said through her giggles, “You don’t _have_ to have sex,” she paused dramatically and smiled wickedly. “You just have to get… _happy_.” Her trilling giggles were joined by Charlie’s chuckles.

 

            Oh, she was implying that having an orgasm had… Well, then.

 

            “Ah! And exactly how _happy_ did you get, little brother?” Fred asked with glee.

 

            “And more importantly,” Angelina teased, her head on Fred’s chest. “How _happy_ did Hermione get?”

 

            She was spending too much time with Fred.

 

            “Um…” Ron knew he needed to get of this muck and fast. “No one got _happy_. I… I don’t even know what you’re talking about, actually. It must just be that I didn’t have as many berries as the others.” He swallowed.

 

            Adrianna gave him an indulgent look. “Must be.” Ron almost felt grateful, then she started that irritating giggling thing again.

 

             “So, where are Bill and George?” Ron asked hurriedly.

 

            “ _Clever_ diversion,” Charlie said sarcastically. “They’re taking care of their birds.”

 

            “Birds!” Adrianna scoffed, slapping him on the chest. “Bill Apparated over to Fleur’s to check on her and George is---”

 

            “Tucking in Alicia,” Angelina finished and Fred wagged his eyebrows, earning another slap. “She wasn’t feeling so well.”

 

            Ron smiled and breathed a sigh of relief. It looked as though the teasing had been redirected---

 

            “Speaking of birds,” Fred interjected. “Where’s yours Ron?”

 

            Crap! “Hermione is not my _bird_.” Among other things, Hermione’d most likely hex anyone who dared call her that.

 

            “Good show, mate. Girls hate to be called that,” Charlie said with mock-seriousness, earning another slap from Adrianna.

 

            Ron wondered if it was the flame fruit, but they looked more like they were flirting than fighting tonight. It must mean something if even _he_ noticed. “Hermione’s sleeping. She wasn’t feeling so well either,” he told them. His brothers chuckled.

 

            “And why aren’t you holding her hand like a good pseudo-boyfriend, hmmm?” Fred asked.

 

            Ron sighed, frowning. He really needed to get them off this topic. Maybe it was a good thing that Hermione was sleeping. Suddenly, he wished he was as well. “Can’t sleep.”

 

            “Mmm, feel like you’re exhausted but your mind won’t stop running?” Adrianna asked.

 

            Ron just nodded.

 

            Charlie chuckled. “That’s the alcohol, mate. Makes you want to sleep, then won’t let you. Nasty stuff.”

 

            “Yeah, and don’t ask for a potion,” Harry groaned. “Our punishment for imbibing is no magical remedies for us.” Ginny giggled again. Ron hadn’t heard her giggle this much since she was five. Right annoying, really.

 

            Ron looked back over at Adrianna and saw Charlie was leaning up…Ah, the perfect diversion. “Charlie, is that a black eye?”

 

            “Yeah,” Ginny piped in, making Ron grin inwardly. “When are you going to tell us how you got that?”

 

            “Never!” Adrianna said fervently.

 

            Mission accomplished. Diversion achieved.

 

            “As soon as George gets back,” Fred called. “I promised I’d wait for him.”

 

            “Do you want to survive until tomorrow?” the Empath warned.

 

            “Come on, love. It’s a good story,” Charlie chuckled.

 

            “It is not a _good story_ ,” she scoffed. “If you’d just let me heal it---”

 

            “No way, badge of honor.”

 

            “Charlie, you’re really---“

 

            “Well, speak of the devil,” Fred grinned broadly and disentangled himself from Angelina as George appeared in the doorway. “We’ve been waiting for you. The crowd was getting rowdy.”

 

            Ron could feel the tension leave his body as George walked in. As was becoming the pattern, the drama created by Adrianna and Charlie had neatly eclipsed Ron’s own. Maybe if the twins knew what was _really_ going on between him and Hermione, his older brother would have more competition.

 

            Then again, judging from the look of horror on Adrianna’s face, this was going to be one hell of a story. 

 

            “You are _not_ telling this story,” Adrianna insisted with conviction. “You know I’m dangerous, right?”

 

            “She’s bluffing,” Charlie said with a lopsided smile. “Not about being dangerous, but that she’d do anything to you for telling the story.”

 

            “I might hurt _you_ ,” she glared down at Charlie, who looked just pleased as punch.

 

            This only made the twins grin wider, as Fred stood next to his brother and cleared his throat as if he were beginning a grand performance. Ginny came up to her knees, an eager look on her face. Harry rolled so he was lying on his side, with his head resting on his elbow. Ron felt a small thrill go through him. This was going to be good.

 

            “Let us set the scene,” George said with pomp and circumstance.

 

            “---The night is growing late, the crowd is thinning, and those who are left are wasted beyond comprehension---”

 

            Ron wished Ginny would stop giggling. It was bloody distracting.

 

            “---Adrianna and Bill are _still_ on the dance floor---”

 

            Fred grinned evilly. “---practically shagging---”

 

            Adrianna gasped. “Oh my god, we _so_ were not!”

 

            George continued. “---Fleur, completely off her face, finally decides to do something about it.”

 

            George turned to Fred and held up his arm as if he were drunkenly brandishing an imaginary wand. Wobbling dramatically, he put on the most atrocious fake French accent Ron had ever heard. “Zu, zu little zztrumpet… How zare you zeal ma Villiam? I vill hex zu!“

 

            “There is more to a French accent than Z’s, George,” Adrianna growled.

 

            Fred placed his hand on his chest and faced George. “But my love, my little flower. We are just friends. We were just dancing.”

 

            “Zat is no danzing. Zat is fornication.”

 

            “My dove, we were practically waltzing.”

 

            “No! Zet out of ze vay. I vill hex zour whore!”

 

            George pushed clumsily around Fred and pointed his imaginary wand at Angelina, who took the challenge admirably. She placed her hands on her hips and sniffed in exaggerated distain. She had _definitely_ been dating Fred too long. “Go ahead you little fool, I dare you to try and hex _me_!”

 

            Adrianna moaned at her impression and buried her head deeper into her hands. Ron thought it was quite good, actually.

 

            “Ah! How zare zou? I vaz in ze trivizard tournament!”

 

            Fred broke his character of Bill and turned to their audience. “At which point, our gallant hero, Charlie,” he dramatically bowed and waved his hand at Charlie in mock adulation. Charlie gave him a royal nod in acceptance. “Finally having returned to the room, with Tonks, enters the foray.”

 

            “Yay!!” Ginny squealed clapping her hands as Fred scrambled back toward the door, like he was reentering the room. He leaned over in mock imitation of Charlie’s muscled bulk. Ron thought it looked more an imitation of a gorilla. It made Harry and him laugh uproariously.

 

            “What is going on here?” Fred asked in a melodrama’s hero voice.

 

            “I iz hexing Villiam’s old floozy, for zaring zo touch im.”

 

            “What!” Fred posed, with his hands on his hips and his head tilted up like a Greek statue. Then Ron, Harry, and Ginny doubled over with laughter. “She was _never_ Bill’s.” He glared menacingly at his twin.

 

            “How zu zou know?” George said stupidly, throwing his hands out in mock confusion. It was quite the Fleur imitation.

 

            “Because that woman is _mine_!” Fred roared.

 

            “Oh god!” Adrianna cried.

 

            Fred dove for Angelina, grabbing the back of her head and crushing his lips to hers. Ron gasped. They weren’t suggesting… He let out a bark of laughter. He couldn’t _wait_ to tell Hermione.

 

            “Pretty good imitation, Fred, but a bit more tongue I think,” George instructed.

 

            “He really kissed her!” Ginny screeched, delighted, as Fred and Angelina continued their passionate snog. Ewww, tongue! Ron looked away and saw the look on Harry’s face. He was positively green.

 

            Adrianna rocked and moaned, “Ohmygodohmygodohmygod.” Charlie grinned hugely and patted her thigh soothingly.

 

            “Oh yeah, that’s it!” George nodded. “Maybe a bit more clawing and moaning from you, Angelina.”

 

            “I am _so_ going to hurt you all!” Adrianna muttered. Ron thought maybe she would. He almost felt sorry for the twins. Nah.

 

            George just smiled. “So that went on for say…half an hour---”

 

            “It did not!” Adrianna exclaimed sobering. She looked directly at the three teens. “It was, like, thirty seconds, at most.”

 

            George and Charlie scoffed. Even Angelina and Fred broke off their enthusiastic snog to roll their eyes at her.

 

            “Please, half an hour?” she continued, incredulously.

 

            “It was _at least_ ten minutes,” Angelina said seriously. “More like fifteen, though.” Now, Adrianna scoffed.

 

            “Fine then,” Fred said, crossing his arms. “If it was that short, you’ll be able to tell us what happened next.” They all stared at her in challenge as she open and closed her mouth. Charlie looked particularly pleased.

 

            More intrigue, no wonder Ginny and Hermione were obsessed with figuring out what was going on with his older brothers and Adrianna. It was downright entertaining.

 

            Adrianna pursed her lips and put on a mask of well honed arrogance, saying snootily. “Then… Tonks knocked out Fleur.”

 

            Three voices gasped, Harry rising to his knees. Ron couldn’t help but laugh. How he would have loved to see _that_.

 

            “Yes,” George prompted. “But why?”

 

            Adrianna shrugged. “She needs a reason?”

 

            Did Hermione have any idea how much she had in common with this woman?

 

            “No, but there was a whole row before. Do you remember that?” Angelina asked innocently.

 

            The look on Adrianna’s face showed she clearly did not remember that. She looked down at Charlie for help. He shrugged casually. “Don’t look at me. I was just as _distracted_ as you were.”

 

            Ron shared a look of glee with his sister. Distracted indeed, as Ginny would say. “So, what did happen?” Adrianna demanded.

 

            “Well,” Fred said with relish. “First, we all just stood and watched the spectacle for a while. _Then_ Fleur turns to Bill---”

 

            George snapped back into character. “Zee, I zold zou ze iz a whore!”

 

            Angelina sprung from the bed and in a Tonk’s casual British said, “How dare you? At least, Adrianna doesn’t need her _powers_ to seduce a man!”

 

            “Yay!” Ginny yelled, clapping her hands. “You tell her Tonks!”

 

            “Why zou little---” George raised his wavering imaginary wand again.

 

            “No!” Fred pushed in front of her. “Don’t hex Dora!” he said melodramatically.

 

            Dora? Who was Dora? Ron frowned. 

 

            “Dora? Dora! Vas iz ze meaning of zis, Villiam?” George roughly tried to push around Fred.

 

            Ohhh… Nymphadora… Tonks. Oh….Ron got it.

 

            “Get out of the way!” Angelina mock yelled, pushing Fred roughly to the side. She wound up for a wide right hook and threw a dramatic punch at George.

 

            “Oh! I am zead!” George stumbled to and fro until he was sprawled out on the floor and Ron joined in with the hooting and clapping.

 

            Even Adrianna couldn’t suppress a laugh. “See,” she said. “That wasn’t ten minutes.”

 

            “Oh,” Angelina countered. “But you were still snogging at this point.”

 

            Ron looked at Charlie with new respect. Pretty impressive, he was almost old.

 

            Fred cleared his throat again. “Enter gallant hero, number two, Remus Lupin.” He ran back to the door and stood up straighter. “I’ll take care of this, youngsters. I’m a werewolf, you know!” Fred said, causing more laughter.

 

            “Now, you see how they are exaggerating! He never said that,” Adrianna said directly at the three spectators.

 

            “He said it with his posture, not his words,” Angelina defended her boyfriend.

 

            “But he was a bit more hammered, Fred,” George called from the floor.

 

            “Right.” Fred staggered a bit, calling out in a slurred voice. “I will save you fair maid.” He held out a mock wand. “ _Enervate_.”

 

            “Acough, acough,” George moaned from the floor. “My hero! Zake me away from zere.”

 

            Whoa there. “Remus took Fleur home?” Ron asked incredulously.

 

            “That’s right!” Fred said as he got off the floor and bowed dramatically.

 

            “Yay!!!” Ginny clapped and hooted. “That was the best story ever. I want it told every year on my birthday!”

 

            Adrianna groaned and Harry called out, “Wait! How did Charlie get his black eye?” Oh yeah, Ron turned his attention back to his older brother, who for some reason continued to grin like a loon.

 

            “Well,” Angelina said, sitting on the bed again. “When Adrianna _finally_ broke off their prolonged kiss---”

 

            “---finally---”

 

            “—finally---”

 

            Once the twins had properly emphasized the word and she paused a suitably long time, Angelina stated, “She punched him.”

 

            Ron choked. No way! What was she embarrassed about? Adrianna was the one who should be proud.

 

            “You hit Charlie?” Harry asked with some kind of awe.

 

            “I said I was sorry,” Adrianna said defensively. “Now, the idiot won’t let me heal it.”

 

            “I like it,” Charlie said grinning.

 

            “You just want to tell people how you got it. What are you going to say to your mother when she gets back?”

 

            “Should have thought of that before you hit me.”

 

            Adrianna reached up to take another swipe at him, but he caught her hand, placing a kiss on the palm while she rolled her eyes. They struggled for a minute while she tried to pull it back. Then she seemed to give up and Charlie folded both his hands around it and held it to his chest, closing his eyes. Adrianna muttered and shook her head, but Ron could tell she was suppressing a smile.

 

            Ron looked over at the twins, wondering what they had to say about the display, but Fred was snuggled back in with Angelina. He caught George’s eye, but he just grinned and winked at him. Looking back at Adrianna and Charlie, Ron had the sudden need to be back with Hermione.

 

            “Um, so I think I’ll go check on---”

            “Your non-girlfriend?” George asked cheekily.

 

            “Uh, yeah,” Ron answered cautiously.

 

            “Down in her room, of course.” Ron’s eyes snapped to Charlie who had opened one eye and was looking at him knowingly. Oh god, he knew. He knew that Hermione had been sleeping in his bed all this time. He looked up and saw a similar amused look on Adrianna’s face. They both knew. Probably knew since the beginning. That’s when he realized that they must be protecting them. That’s why their mum hadn’t figured it out. He felt a wave of gratitude and smiled at them.

 

            “Of course, good night.” Ron carefully slipped out and closed the door, sure to shut out the fact that he was going just across the hall, from the twins’ prying eyes.

 

            Back in his room, he climbed back into bed, feeling relaxed for some reason, just at the sight of Hermione. What would he do without her? Her eyelids fluttered open as he stretched out next to her.

 

            “Hey,” she said groggily. “Where’ve you been?” Half-asleep, she reached for him.

 

            He smiled contentedly as he pulled her to his chest. “They’re having a slumber party across the hall. The twins are in rare form.”

 

            “Oh,” she said softly. “Did you want to stay there---?”

 

            “No, I want to be here with you.” He pressed a kiss to her crown and enjoyed the feel of her in his arms. “How are you feeling?”

 

            “Better.” She rubbed her face against his shirt.

 

            Ron smiled. “Hey, Hermione, you want hear a great story?”

  
  


                                  * * * * *

 

 

            When Hermione awoke, everything was warm and familiar, the soft sheets, the shadows created by the bed hangings, even the musty boy-scent of Ron beside her. She hummed and stretched. That’s when she realized that she was wearing Ron’s shirt… and not much else.

 

            The events of the night before came flooding back to her. All the wonder, the horror, the awe, the _shame_. Oh dear god, what the hell happened to her last night? What did she do? One thing was for sure, good girls did _not_ do what she did last night.

 

            Hermione swallowed and let out a deep breath. She let her eyes wander to Ron, where he was sleeping soundly in boyish innocence. Innocent, right.

 

            Yet, as her eyes traveled over his beautiful form, she knew she couldn’t blame him. He’d been nothing short of wonderful last night in every possible way, loving, giving, thoughtful. No, there was no fault to be found with Ron.

 

            The fault was all hers. She had to close her eyes as she remembered. She had wantonly removed her shirt… then her bra. Oh god! She remembered how she had placed the fruit juice on her nipple. Oh, dear heavens.

 

             Ron hadn’t initiated anything. It was all her. He had even tried to keep them from going too far, but she had insisted... no, _begged_ him to continue. They had practically been shagging and it was all her fault. What kind of witch was she?

 

            The need to be out of that bed was overwhelming. Carefully, Hermione climbed over Ron and slipped off the bed. The dear boy didn’t stir. She knew that he hadn’t fallen asleep until the sun was almost up.

 

            Deciding to take a shower, Hermione made her way down to her and Ginny’s bedroom to grab some clothes. Her breath caught when she opened the door and surveyed the scene of the crime.

 

            Her shirt was in a sticky pile on the floor. Her bra was casually draped over Ginny’s bedside table. A spilled bottle of Firewhiskey lay on the floor, making the room reek like the Leaky Cauldron at the end of a long night. It was surrounded by dozens of flame fruit hulls. The other almost-empty bottle sat on the chest where the usual contents were scattered about, having been pushed aside and to the floor when Ron had lifted her and placed her on top. Hermione’s bed was rumpled mess. That was where… Oh dear.

 

            She closed her eyes to the sight. Good thing Ginny hadn’t seen this. Wait, where was Ginny? Her bed was untouched. Thinking back Hermione realized that Harry’s bed was empty and the curtains open in Ron’s room as well. She wondered if she should be worried, then remembered that Ron had seen them in Adrianna’s room last night and relaxed.

 

            Hermione quickly found her wand in a drawer and removed the sight… and smell of her indiscretions.

 

            Rifling through her things, Hermione came across her new clothes and paused. No, she couldn’t handle that right now. She grabbed an old pair of jeans and an old t-shirt. She was about to grab an old pair of knickers and a bra, but hesitated. Old jeans were one thing… but the bra, it represented something. Wearing the old one felt, somehow, like going backwards.

 

            She pulled out a handful of her old bras and binned them. She added a new, simple cotton underwire bra to her pile and made her way to the shower.

 

            Once she was in the shower and under the punishing hot spray of the water Hermione finally allowed herself to feel her body. She was sore everywhere, especially her thigh muscles… and the area _between_ her thighs. She hadn’t even known that that part of her could get sore, but it burned a bit when the hot water ran over it. Her lips and breasts felt raw and swollen. She was sure she was littered with ‘love bites,’ as Ginny would say.

 

            Hermione thought back to the girl she was less than two months ago when she left Hogwarts. Did she even resemble her any more? Or even a couple of weeks ago, when she had sat in the drawing room with Ron’s head in her lap and made the decision to propose the Practicing rouse. She’d had no idea. She’d been so naive. To think that it had led her here.

 

            A whole new world had opened up to her and there was no going back. Hermione didn’t know how she felt about it. This new world was exciting and tantalizing in its promised pleasures… but it was scary and unknown and Hermione didn’t have the resources to navigate it. She didn’t have the knowledge, didn’t know if it was a good place or a dark evil place. It felt like both.

 

            Despite what Ron had said the night before, she didn’t know if this was a place respectable women went. Oh, she was sure _he_ thought it was. Probably learned it from his brothers and heavens knows about _their_ definitions of respectable.

 

            One thing was sure. Hermione needed to figure it all out and soon, before she lost Ron… and herself in the process. She needed to have a real conversation with Adrianna.

 

            She felt somewhat better when she stepped out of the shower. Feeling at least that she had some control of fate now that she had a plan.

 

            Hermione frowned at herself in the mirror. She used her wand to remove the signs of last night’s _activities_ from her body. She towel-dried her hair, remembering that Adrianna had said that the charm she had taught Hermione to defrizz her hair would last for weeks. All she needed to do was let her hair air-dry. It was ridiculously simple.

 

            Still, when she was dressed and looking in the mirror, Hermione felt self-conscious about the hair that was already drying into shinny curls. She twisted it and clipped it to the back of her head. Adrianna was going to say she was hiding, but Hermione needed to feel a bit more like her old self at the moment.

 

            The house was surprisingly quiet, despite the fact that it was almost noon. There seemed to be an unspoken consensus from the residents that they were taking a day to recover from the festivities. Hermione shuddered at the idea of training today.

 

            The ballroom was empty of people, but looked as though an explosion had gone off. Rubbish was everywhere, furniture was overturned, the floor was sticky. It was a good thing that they still had several days before Mr. and Mrs. Weasley returned from their holiday.

 

            Hermione was relieved to find Adrianna alone in the kitchen, still in her dressing gown and nursing a cup of coffee. “Morning,” she called as Hermione entered. “It _is_ still morning, isn’t it?”

 

            Hermione smiled wryly, as she took a seat across from her. “Barely.”

 

            “Would you like something to eat?” Adrianna asked, carefully sipping her coffee. “Bill gave Dobby off, the fewer witnesses the better, you know, and I can’t cook, but I could probably transfigure you something.”

 

            Hermione shook her head, feeling shy. “No thanks.”

 

            There were a few moments of silence while Hermione drew up her courage. Conversationally, Adrianna asked, “You weren’t a part of the great cake massacre were you?” She gestured over to the corner of the floor where Ginny’s birthday cake was in a messy heap.

 

            Hermione let out an involuntary laugh, before putting a hand over her mouth. “No. Who would---?”

 

            “I’m pretty sure it was Ginny and Harry. Most likely felt it was justified since we pretty much forgot the reason for the party in the first place.” Hermione felt a rush of remorse. She had been as guilty as anyone. The Empath shook her head. “Don’t feel too bad. I think Harry made up for our lack of attention. I assure you, Ginny enjoyed herself.” Adrianna grinned wickedly at her over the top of her mug.

 

            Feeling a giggle rise inside her Hermione remembered Ron’s story from last night. She couldn’t help herself from teasing, “Seems _everyone_ enjoyed themselves.”

 

            She was a bit astounded to see Adrianna actually blush, before she threw back lightly, “You especially.”

 

            Hermione knew that her blush beat the older witch’s by a mile. The events of last night rushed through her mind again and an uncomfortable mix of shame and anxiety rose in her. She closed her eyes against the tide of emotions.

 

            “Oh,” Adrianna said in a concerned tone. “Oh, well then I suppose we should have talked yesterday after all.”

 

            Hermione just nodded sadly, but felt soothed by the woman’s reassuring smile. One way or another she was going to have her answers.

 

            She almost groaned out loud when Charlie came bounding into the room, humming happily, his black eye shinning glaringly. “Morning all!” He leaned over and kissed Adrianna’s cheek with exuberance, laughing when she rolled her eyes and tried to push him away.

 

            When Charlie went over to the cupboard to pull out a mug, Adrianna leaned over to Hermione and whispered, “Give me a minute. I’ll take care of this.”

 

            Hermione wasn’t exactly sure how she was going to ‘take care’ of anything, but she sighed in relief and found herself relaxing.

 

            “Charlie,” the Adrianna called, approaching him and taking the mug from his hand. “I need to talk to you.” She transfigured the contents for him and pulled him across the room into a private corner.

 

            Hermione hoped he didn’t upset her. At this moment, she really needed Adrianna to be able to read her mind. Heavens, had she really just thought that! What had become of her?

 

            Her head jerked up as Ron clamored down the stairs and came to abrupt halt, obviously out of breath. “Hermione, thank god!” She stared at him as he caught his breath. He then hastily pulled out the chair next to her and turned her entire chair, with her in it, to face him. He sat down, leaning toward her, his hands on her arms.

 

            His nearness was unbalancing, as was his attention. Hermione didn’t know what to say. She loved the way he smelled.

 

            “Hermione are you all right?” Ron whispered. “You look upset. You’re not going to go all mental again are you? No, I didn’t mean that. I mean, you’re not angry at me are you? I mean, like before. Damn it, it’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have pushed. I shouldn’t have let things go so far. I’m sorry if you’re uncomfortable with…. anything that happened. I mean, I don’t want to do anything that you don’t want to do. What I mean is… please don’t shut me out again. I’ll back off... physically or anything that you want. I’ll burn all those magazines. Anything you want, just please, talk to me.”

 

            Tears came to Hermione’s eyes. He was so unbearably sweet. She didn’t deserve him, not with the way she’d been treating him. It wasn’t fair that he was so wonderful. Life was so much easier when Ron was a bumbling, insensitive lout.

 

            She managed to say, “I’m not angry with you.”

 

            “Then what? Talk to me,” he said softly, his blue eyes intense and pleading.

 

            She placed a hand on his face. Could her world become any more upside-down? After everything, Ron was pleading with _her_ to talk to _him_.

 

            “Ron,” Hermione sighed, then swallowed. “I…” She had to look away. She knew she was blushing again. “Remember the stuff we talked about last night? I… I’m just a bit confused about what’s happening to… with me. My body, I mean. I think I just need to talk to Adrianna about it first though, woman to woman.” She glanced back up at him, to gauge his reaction, biting her lip nervously.

 

            “Oh,” he said, sitting back. The intensity left Ron’s face. He looked calmed. “Oh, well then, brilliant. Then you’re not going to shut me out again?” he asked hopefully.

 

            Hermione could only shake her head since she was afraid she was going to start crying.

 

            “Good, good. ‘Cause Hermione, you can yell at me. You can hit me. Just, I _need_ you to talk to me.”

 

            He really needed to stop being so wonderful. It was killing her. She fell forward, embracing him, nodding into his chest and breathing deeply of him.

 

            Ron stroked her back. “Are we ok then?” he asked into her hair.

 

            “Yeah, yeah, _we’re_ ok.”

 

            Hermione just hoped the same could be said of her.

  
  


                                  * * * * *

 

 

 

            Harry woke with the distinct feel that he was dying. He knew the feeling. He’d felt it before, though _this_ felt worse. He was actually surprised to find he was in his cousin’s room and not in the hospital wing at Hogwarts.

 

            Oh right, the Firewhiskey. He groaned and buried his face in the bed as a wave of nausea ran through him. He remembered lying in this bed next to Ginny, listening to the laughter and teasing. Then…nothing.

 

            Harry opened his eyes to find his glasses lying millimeters from his face. He carefully put them on and chanced a peak at the rest of the room. It looked as though it had been vacated. The sun looked pretty high in the sky as well.

 

            The nausea became more intense and Harry stumbled out of the room and to the loo. When finally he sat back from the toilet, he took a deep breath---

 

            “Hey.”

 

            Harry’s head whipped around… not a good idea. His head pounded. “Ginny?” he squinted at her. He put on the glasses the he had hastily removed before falling to his knees. Embarrassment washed over him as he realized what she had just witnessed. “What are you doing here?”

 

            “Same as you. Waiting for the next round of nausea.” She smiled at him in a self-deprecating manner. Now that he could see her, she did look a bit green. Ginny sat, leaning against the cool tile wall with her knees to her chest and her hair falling out of what looked like a hastily applied clip.

 

            “Why didn’t you close the door?” he asked, still embarrassed.

 

            Ginny shrugged. “Didn’t think of it.”

 

            There was something in her expression that made Harry smile. He crawled over and sat next to her. The cool tile felt good. “Think we drank too much?” he asked sarcastically.

 

            She snorted. “You remember it all?” She peered at him through the corner of her eye.

 

            “I think so. Though, I don’t remember falling asleep. Did we play Quidditch in the hallway?”

 

            Ginny gave a short bark of a laugh. “That was brilliant.”

 

            Harry closed his eyes and smiled remembering. The night washed over him, the whole thing was bloody brilliant! “Yeah, worth a bit of sickness, I’d say. What about you?”

 

            “I’ll tell you when my stomach stops doing flips.” Ginny looked over at him. She looked just as cute this morning. Why hadn’t he noticed before? They shared a soft smile. “Yeah, it was worth it,” she said softly.

 

            Something about the way she said it gave Harry the need to tear his eyes away. “My head is bloody killing me though,” he said, rubbing his forehead.

 

            “Come ‘ere.” Ginny put an arm around his shoulders and began rubbing both of his temples. His eyes closed with a moan. It felt _so_ good. Harry didn’t often get human contact. He was infinitely grateful for it.

 

            At that moment, he was infinitely grateful for Ginny. And he felt like shite for upsetting her yesterday, on her birthday of all times. “Ginny?” he murmured, his eyes still closed.

 

            “Mmm?”

 

            “I’m sorry.”

 

            He felt her stiffen. “What for?” she asked cautiously.

 

            “For being a prat yesterday morning. For not wishing you a happy birthday like you deserved.”

 

            Ginny relaxed. “Oh, that. I forgave you for that last night, don’t you remember?”

 

            Harry nodded as her fingers began working in earnest again. “Well then, I’m sorry about anything else I did to make you angry. You know, before that.”

 

            She chuckled. “That’s ok.”

 

            But her simple forgiveness didn’t feel like enough. He turned and looked at her. “Ginny, what did I do? Why were you so upset?” She dropped her hands and looked away. Harry swallowed. “If you don’t tell me, how am I going to know how to _not_ do it in the future?”

 

            When she looked back at him he gave her a small pleading smile. Ginny struggled not to, but she smiled back. “Oh, Harry,” she sighed, looking straight ahead again. “I wasn’t so much angry as disappointed.”

 

            Harry frowned. Disappointed? He wracked his memory, what had happened before she had stopped talking to him that could have made her disappointed. “The watch?”

 

            She nodded. Score one for Potter, he thought proudly.

 

            “You know what really pisses me off about you, Harry?’

 

            Uh oh. That’s what he gets for being smug.

 

            Ginny continued without prompting. “It’s the whole ‘I have to save the world’ complex… and before you get huffy, I don’t mean when you _actually_ have to save the world. I mean in everyday life. You are so busy trying to save everyone around you from whatever danger you imagine will befall them merely from being in your presence, that you don’t even see _them_. As people.”

 

            Harry swallowed, a sinking feeling in his stomach. Ginny turned and fixed him with her deep honey-brown eyes. “We’re more than a body to save, Harry. We have feelings and thought and ideas. We can make our own decisions, and believe it or not, sometimes we actually just want to spend time with you, be your friend. Be something more than hero and damsel in distress.” She trailed off during the last part, looking away.

 

            Harry stared at her, agape. He didn’t know whether to be touched or crushed. He supposed he’d have to settle for being a bit of both. “The world doesn’t revolve around me, huh?” he said in a self-depreciating tone.

 

            “Yeah, something like that.” Ginny looked down and then back at him. “Now, don’t go feeling sorry for yourself. That really pisses me off as well.”

 

            Harry had to laugh, even though a part of him really wanted to cry. Then there was the part of him that felt like he had been hit in the head with a Bludger. He leaned back against the wall. “I reckon I’ll have to work on that, then.”

 

            “Yeah,” she murmured, sounding far away.

 

            “Ginny?”

 

            “Hmm?”

 

            Harry cleared his throat. “It might take awhile, you know. It’s pretty well ingrained.”

 

            Ginny laughed, the familiar sound relaxing him. She reached over and squeezed his hand. “That’s all right. I’m fairly patient.”

 

            Harry chuckled, squeezing back. “If you’ll let me, I can try and make it up to you tonight.”

 

            “With the watch?” He nodded. “What if my room is unavailable? Ron and Hermione could row again at any moment?”

 

            He laughed again. What was it about her that had him always laughing? “There are other rooms in the house, I suppose. Your parents won’t be home for days.”

 

            She smiled, her eyes closed. “That would be lovely.”

 

            Harry had to look away from her, for some reason his heartbeat had accelerated abruptly. They sat in silence for awhile. Harry grew more and more uncomfortable. He cleared his throat. “How are you feeling?” he asked.

 

            Ginny shrugged. “Better, I suppose. Reckon there’s nothing left to come back up.” She smiled wryly.

 

            “I hear toast is good for settling the stomach.”

 

            “I don’t know. That sounds like a remedy. Do you think ‘Drana’ll allow it?”

 

            He laughed out right. “I think we can sneak it by her.” Harry managed to make it to his feet without restarting the chain of nausea and reached down to help her up.

 

            When they got down to the kitchen, Hermione and Ron were shyly breaking away from an embrace, and Charlie and Adrianna were in the corner, arguing quietly. Good to know things were back to normal.

 

            Charlie’s voice rose so they could hear them. “’Drana, please, I really don’t want to do this.”

 

            She pulled out her wand and produced a book. Handing it to Charlie, she said, “Here, you’ll do fine.” Adrianna smiled as she walked around him and toward the door. “Ron, Harry, Charlie’s going to take care of your lessons for today.”

 

            “Adrianna,” Charlie whined, looking dejected.

 

            “You’ll do _fine_. Hermione, Ginny, come with me.” Hermione hopped up almost eagerly.

 

            “Hey,” Ginny said, confused, as Adrianna took her arm and gently lead her back to the stairs. “I came for some toast.”

 

            “I’ll transfigure you some upstairs,” ‘Drana said, not slowing their pace. “Oh, and Charlie, don’t scare them.” The girls disappeared up the steps.

 

            Harry looked at Charlie in horror. Was this part of his punishment? He had to spend the rest of the day being lectured by the wanker? That was just cruel. Especially after Harry had heard about his little _escapade_ last night with his cousin.

 

            The only consolation was that the wanker looked just as miserable about the situation as he did. Charlie reluctantly took a seat across from Ron. Only when he was seated, did Harry let himself take the seat next to his best mate.

 

            Charlie was muttering to himself. He looked down at the book in his hands and chuckled, shaking his head. “Only Anna,” he whispered to himself.

 

            Harry really hated him.

 

            “So…” Ron said expectantly.

 

            “So,” the wanker said, clearing his throat. “Apparently, Adrianna thinks there has been something left out of your education. Either that, or she wants to torture me.” He muttered the last part to himself and took a deep breath before looking at them with abject misery. “She wants me to teach you about sex.”

 

            “What!” Harry gasped. This had to be a joke. He was not going to have to sit and listen to a lecture about sex from his cousin’s ex-lover, who, by the way, he despised.

 

            “‘Fraid so,” the wanker said, shifting nervously.

 

            “So…um, what are you going to talk about?” Ron asked almost eagerly. “We know the basics.”

 

            “Yeah, well, I guess Adrianna gathered that, because apparently there’s only one thing she thinks a teenage boy needs to know about sex.” He leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest like a shield. Then like a man with a death sentence he announced, “I’ve been instructed to make sure you both know how to find the clitoris.”

  
  


                                  * * * * *


	30. The Talk

            “Yeah well, I guess Adrianna gathered that, because apparently there’s only one thing she thinks a teenage boy needs to know about sex.” Charlie took a deep breath. “I’ve been _instructed_ to make sure you both know how to find the clitoris.”

 

            Ron was speechless.

 

            When his older brother first sat down and announced that he was there to talk about sex, Ron had been excited and a bit apprehensive. He had never gotten _the_ talk before. Probably because as the youngest of six boys, everybody had just assumed someone else had done it, or because they assumed just being around his brothers he would have learned enough.

 

            And that was true in many ways. He had learned a lot just living with Fred and George. Percy was no help whatsoever, though, and Charlie and Bill were pretty much out of the house before he was old enough to care.

 

            Ron had to say, he wasn’t unhappy that _the_ talk was coming from Charlie. It wouldn’t be horrifyingly awkward as it would have been with his parents, or consist of material designed to mortify rather than inform as it would with _some_ of his brothers.

 

            So, Charlie was a decent choice, though Ron had been worried about the content. But the _clitoris_. That was downright useful information. He would want to know how it worked for Hermione…. But he didn’t need to know for Hermione, because they were just Practicing. And they were not going to be Practicing with _that_. Were they?

 

            Eagerly, Ron leaned forward to listen to his brother.

 

            Next to him, Harry frowned. “What’s the cl…clithawata... What’s that?”

 

            Ron immediately felt embarrassed for his friend. How could he not know? Well, not that Ron knew all that much, but still? To never have _heard_ of it? He felt a wave of guilt. Harry didn’t have brothers. Maybe Ron should have been more open to talking about sex and girls. If he hadn’t been so intent on hiding from his feelings for Hermione….

 

            Wow, his feelings for Hermione. He fancied Hermione. He’d never really put it in exactly those terms before, but well, _obviously_ he fancied Hermione. Didn’t take genius to reckon that one. The scary part was how much and how _long._ He probably fancied her for an awfully long time without realizing. Ron shook off the incredibly deep thought and forced himself to concentrate on his brother.

 

            Charlie was shifting uncomfortably. “The clitoris,” he corrected Harry. “Though that term is not often used in polite society. Um, some call it… the magic button….the sweet spot…? No?” Harry just stared at him in annoyed confusion. Charlie turned to his brother. “Ron, surely you’ve heard…?”

 

            “Oh,” Ron said, realizing what his brother was asking. “Yeah, of course, I’ve heard of it.” He glanced at Harry’s betrayed expression and hastily added, “ _Heard_. I mean, I don’t know how to work it or anything.”

 

            Harry’s eyes narrowed and he glared at him, with his arms crossed over his chest as if judging whether Ron was telling the truth. Finally, Harry sighed. “Well, are you going to tell me what it is then?”

 

            “Uh,” Charlie started. Then he closed his eyes muttering, “I can’t believe she’s making me do this.” He opened his eyes and seemed to steel himself. “It… it’s the place... the little nub on a woman in the front of her... genitalia.”

 

            Harry was bright red when he asked, “And of all the things to know about sex, this is the most important because…?”

 

            “Because mate, that’s how you make a girl _happy_ ,” Charlie said with a wry smile. Harry still didn’t appear to completely get it. “It’s the primary way, not the only way mind you, that women achieve orgasm.”

 

            Harry put the Weasley-blush to shame, but he tried to appear unimpressed. “Oh.”

 

            Charlie leaned forward. “Look, if you want to keep a bird satisfied in bed, you need to learn this…button, inside and out. Once you do, let me tell you, mates, there is nothing better than a woman’s pleasure, knowing you were responsible for it… best thing in the world, it is.”

 

            Ron’s eyes slipped closed, remembering the feeling. The rush of pride as he watched Hermione’s graceful neck arch back. The sounds that came out of her mouth. He felt a rush of blood moving south by just remembering. “Oh yeah.”

 

            “Oh yeah?” Harry squealed, in a manner that would have put most girls to shame. Ron’s eyes snapped open and he saw Harry had risen from his seat and was towering over him menacingly. “You said it was because you didn’t have as much fruit! You said you _didn’t_! You swore!” His voice held both betrayal and fury.

 

            Ron felt panic and guilt overwhelm him. He put up his hands in surrender. “What was I supposed to say? Fred was there.” Oh, that was _not_ the thing to say. What was wrong with his mouth?

 

            “What!! You did! You shagged her!” Harry’s fists were balled up, and Ron was afraid he was going to hit him. “She was drunk, Ron! How could you?”

 

            Ron felt the lowest of slime. “I didn’t…. We didn’t shag!! I swear! We just… we just did other things. It was her idea.” Well, sort-of, and she was drunker than him. “The…the orgasm thing that was...unexpected. Really, Harry.” Ron wasn’t sure why he needed Harry to understand, but he did.

 

            Harry deflated slightly. “You _swear_ you never shagged her?”

 

            “Shite, Harry, what kind of git do you take me for? No!”

 

            Harry's fists uncurled, and he demanded softly, “You would tell me if you did?”

 

            It almost seemed as if keeping it from Harry hurt him as much as the act itself would. Ron supposed that made sense. He nodded. “Of course.”

 

            Harry nodded and sat, crossing his arms even tighter across his chest, his hands buried in his underarms. He kept his eyes vigilantly on Ron. “So then what happened?” he demanded bitterly. “How did it happen? The _happy_?”

 

            Ron closed his eyes. He wanted to share, but he wanted to keep the memory to himself at the same time. He also knew that this was an important moment in his friendship to Harry.

 

            “We were, you know, just snogging.” Well, more than just snogging. “And you know, rubbing against each other, grinding, pretty hard. And it just kept going and she kinda demanded that I not stop and then she….came.” Ron carefully opened his eyes, knowing his face now matched Harry’s in hue.

 

            His best mate was looking at him skeptically. Charlie chuckled and looked at him with what seemed to be pride. “You’re a lucky bloke, little brother.”

 

            Harry had that dangerous look again. Ron cleared his throat nervously. “Why?”

 

            Charlie smiled, leaning back in the chair, rocking on the back legs. “It seems your bird… Hermione seems to be quite the passionate one, sensual, and it’s clear that you’re not going to have a particularly difficult time giving her a… _happy_.”

 

            Ron felt a rush of pride, before he remembered that Hermione wasn’t his. Never would be. It would be someone else enjoying her… vast attributes. The thought made him sick. He pushed it aside and asked his brother, “Have the girls… women you’ve been with been like that?”

 

            Charlie looked thoughtful. “The important one...s.” The ‘s’ was a clear afterthought. Who had…? Oh. Oh! Ron looked over at Harry who looked positively green.

 

            Which is why Ron probably shouldn’t have asked, “What was it like?”

 

            Harry growled, punctuating Ron’s mistake.

 

            Charlie cleared his throat. “Best not get specific, then.” But he winked at Ron, giving him a look that said, if Ron wasn’t mistaken, that he could get the details later. Even as Ron felt a thrill of excitement, he felt bad for Harry. Here they were, discussing the sexual nature of the two women Harry thought of like sisters. If they had been discussing Ginny… Ew. yick.

 

            “Fine, so it doesn’t sound so hard to get a girl to….be _happy_. Why do we have to learn about this clitha...thingy,” Harry asked petulantly.

 

            “Because it’s not always that easy,” Charlie explained. “Dry sex, grinding, like Ron had, usually works early in a relationship when both parties are overly excited from vast amounts of snogging without release and usually because you are unintentionally rubbing the…button.”

 

            “Why do you keep calling it a button? It sounds daft,” Harry griped.

 

            “Cause it sort of looks… no, I dunno, Harry, it’s just a euphemism I guess. I can ask ‘Drana…” Charlie trailed off at the look on Harry’s face. “Guess not then, maybe I should just show you.” He held up the book he was holding with an embarrassed look. _Human anatomy_. “Not my choice, let me tell you. Adr… Let me find the picture.”

 

            As Charlie leafed through the book looking for the right picture, Ron’s thoughts went to Hermione. Didn’t they always?

 

              She had said that she needed to ask Adrianna some advice, probably pertaining to last nights…activities and Hermione’s unusual lack of knowledge on the subject of sexuality.

 

            Adrianna was probably upstairs with the girls correcting that problem right now. Hermione was getting a sex lecture. Ron was oddly uncomfortable at the thought. Was Adrianna showing her pictures of male genitalia? How would his measure up? Would Hermione think his was….? Not that she was going to see him. He didn’t mean….

 

            What was Adrianna teaching them? Sexual secrets? Her and Ginny… Oh god, she was teaching this stuff to Ginny. Ginny should _not_ know this stuff. It would just confuse her.

 

            “Ok, here it is. Daft Muggle drawing, but more or less accurate.” Charlie held up the drawing.

 

            “Ewww!” Harry blurted with disgust.

 

            Ron’s jaw fell open. Wow. Wow. Hermione looked like that. Wow, and also ewww.

  
  


                                                            * * * * *

 

 

 

            Ginny was confused. She was sick, she was nauseated, she was cranky, and she had no bloody clue why she had been told to change and go to Adrianna’s room for a lesson. A god damned lesson.

 

            And why wasn’t Harry allowed to come? Were they splitting them up so they could be lectured about their ‘inappropriate behavior’ more easily? Not that Charlie and Adrianna should be talking about inappropriate behavior, Ginny chuckled to herself.

 

            In jogging pants and a t-shirt, her aching stomach not able to tolerate anything else, Ginny made her way back to Adrianna’s room. She found Hermione sitting cross-legged on the bed, with her hands neatly folded, looking highly anxious.

 

            Ginny was feeling too sick to feel overly sympathetic. She threw herself into the chair by the bed and looked at her friend with fatigue. “So, what’s all this about?”

 

            If anything Hermione seemed to get more anxious at the question, her eyes opening wide. Shite, it was going to be a long morning, afternoon, whatever.

 

            Adrianna came bustling in from the loo, now dressed in jeans and tying her hair up in a messy knot. “All right then,” she said as she closed the door, making Ginny even more apprehensive. She went over to her potion trunk and started pulling out a cauldron and supplies.

 

            Ginny sighed. She was not in the mood for mysteries. Or potions, for that matter. “What are we doing?” she asked crossly.

 

            Adrianna smiled at her and gave her an indulgent expression, as if Ginny’s post-inebriation distress was sooo amusing. Ha. Ha. Bloody ha.

 

            “I’m teaching you to make a contraceptive potion,” Adrianna explained, causing Ginny to choke. That was the last thing she was expecting. “It’s more effective than the charm, and you only take it once a lunar cycle on the full moon.”

 

            Ginny’s mind raced. “Why do we need to take it at all?” she squealed. “We’re not having sex yet.” She looked at Hermione’s flushed, downward gaze. “Right?”

 

            Hermione nodded, but it wasn’t all that convincing.

 

            “You need to learn before you start having sex, after is a bit late,” Adrianna said in a businesslike manner. “And I recommend starting to take it now. These things can sneak up on you, besides it takes a while to get into the habit of taking it at the right time of month.” She looked around at the younger girls’ expressions and put down her supplies. Sitting on the bed she said, “Maybe we should talk first. Hermione, why don’t you---“

 

            Hermione started speaking in a great burst, as if she had been holding in the words for far too long and was about to explode. “I’m a slag,” she declared miserably. “I’m a whore, a scarlet woman, a floozy, a tart.”

 

            Oh god, not this again. Unless… “Shite, Hermione, you didn’t? Oh my god, you did! You got shagged last night!” Ginny accused somewhat hysterically.

 

            “No!” Hermione protested, shaking her head far too quickly. “I didn’t. But something else happened…”

 

            Oh, so she was just over reacting again. Ginny slumped back into her chair and looked to Adrianna. She hoped the older witch would know what to say when Hermione got this way. Ginny sure didn’t.

 

            “It…it was strange and I don’t think it happens to good girls. I mean, well, Ron said it was…was an orgasm.”

 

            The last word was whispered so quietly, Ginny barely heard it. But she perked up instantly. “Orgasm?” she asked with interest and Hermione nodded miserably. “Oh my god, that’s _so_ exciting.” Ginny sprang from her chair with new energy and eagerly went to sit next to her friend on the bed. “What did it feel like? Was it amazing? I’ve tried to give myself one but it never worked very well.”

 

            Hermione was looking at her with a shocked and horrified expression. Oh dear, Hermione really was a bit of a prude. No, that wasn’t fair. Innocent… well, not anymore. Ginny sniggered, and looked over at Adrianna who was trying to suppress a smile.

 

            “All right, relax,” Adrianna said with a hint of amusement in her voice. “First thing, Hermione, you’re not a slag, a whore or whatever.”

 

            Hermione nodded miserably, and Ginny moved over on the bed so that they had a clearer view of one another.

 

            Adrianna just shook her head. “Look, a whore is someone who exchanges sex for goods or services, a scarlet woman is some nonsense out of the sixteenth century, a tart is another word for prostitute, and floozy is someone who will have sex with anyone, especially if it will get her something. See afore mentioned goods or services. Now a slag…I assume that’s the same thing as a slut.” Adrianna looked to Ginny, who just shrugged. “I think so. That’s someone who sleeps indiscriminately with people regardless of emotional connections and often quite a large number of them. Now, I’m quite positive, Hermione, that you don’t fit any of these definitions.”

 

            Hermione looked hopeful. “Are you sure?” she asked quietly.

 

            “Quite sure. Not that there is anything wrong with a slutty phase in one’s life. Can be healthy. But trust me, this doesn’t qualify.”

 

            A wicked smile came over Ginny’s face, all thoughts of nausea and headaches forgotten. She leaned forward. “So, ‘Drana, you’re speaking from experience?”

 

            Adrianna had the grace to blush, but only slightly. “As a matter of fact, I did have a brief slutty period at the end of my seventh year into my first year of Academy, after I broke up with my first boyfriend and before… Well, before my second.”

 

            She looked away at the end, rising Ginny’s curiosity even more. Second, huh? Adrianna must be talking about Charlie. Otherwise, why the discomfort? But that would have been… ten years ago? “So, how long did this _second_ boyfriend last?” Ginny asked with as much innocence as she could muster.

 

            The look Adrianna flashed her confirmed Ginny’s suspicions. “A while. But that’s neither here nor there.” She cleared her throat. “The point being that good girls most definitely _do_ have orgasms. In fact I recommend having them regularly, partner or not.”

 

            “You mean, it’s ok for a girl to…masturbate?” Hermione asked with awe and skepticism.

 

            The older girl nodded. “Anyone who says it’s not should be shot, but that’s just my opinion.”

 

            “But it’s hard,” Ginny burst out without thinking, then flushed. “I mean,” she continued quieter, “I’ve tried and it doesn’t work. I mean---”

 

            “It’s harder for woman,” Adrianna agreed. “All men’s parts are out in the open. It’s pretty obvious what to do. But with girls the most obvious way isn’t necessarily the best.”

 

            Really? Ginny’s curiosity was definitely peeked. This was turning into quite the useful lesson. “So what is the best way?”

 

            “Have you two girls heard of the clitoris?”

  
  


                                                            * * * * *

  
  


            Harry stared at the drawing of female genitalia and swore that he was going to vomit again. And not even because it was disgusting, and it _was_ revolting, to the point where Harry honestly thought this might be a joke being played on him, but Charlie and Ron were far too serious for that to be the case. When the wanker began to point out the different parts, Harry thought he wanted to die.

 

            All he could think, as Charlie’s finger flew over the picture, was that the older man had seen Adrianna’s… girl parts. The wanker was probably imagining them right now as he gave them this lesson. That in turn made Harry think about his cousin’s girl parts and made him want to hurl… or die… or anything that might end this misery.

 

            He dragged his eyes to Ron’s eager face and saw him with Hermione. No better! Ahhh!

 

            Harry closed his eyes. He had to get these images out of his head before his brain melted. He needed to think of a girl he fancied. He should think about Cho, but when the image formed in his head there were red curls… Oh crap, Ginny!!

 

            His eyes sprung open, certain that her brothers had read his mind. Of course, they hadn’t, but now he couldn’t get the image out of his mind.

 

            “Does it look, you know, better in real life?” Ron was asking.

 

            Charlie shrugged. “Not really. But don’t tell them that and besides you won’t care. Trust me. Ugly as it is, you’ll learn to love it just the same.”

 

            Harry wondered if Voldemort could even devise a torture such as this. Getting sex education from his cousin’s ex-lover, with his best friend’s would-be lover, both of whom were the overly-protective brothers of the girl whose imaginary parts were now burned into his brain.

 

            The situation was so ridiculous that Harry wondered if it was really a Firewhiskey-induced nightmare.

 

            “So what do you do with the…button?” Ron asked.

 

            Definitely a nightmare.

 

            “Well you rub it…” Oh god, Harry tried to tune it out, but Charlie just kept going on about the various ways one could… Oh god! Harry saw Charlie and…. No! No, he refused. He’d rather have them know he was fantasizing about Ginny.

 

            “I recommend a circular motion, but each girl is different, you need to experiment....”

 

            How many people did Charlie experiment with? Harry shook off those thoughts. He purposely imagined himself with Ginny.

 

            “Some girls can be really sensitive, so you should…” Charlie began describing the exact nature of said button and Harry wanted to put his hands over his ears and hum. They could see the bloody drawing, did he have to be so explicit?

 

             Even so, Harry found himself getting excited by the image. Maybe that was the most upsetting part. He was such a pervert.

 

            “Once you get the hang of it, you can…” Then came the _piece de resistance_ , when Charlie started to describe using _that_ _other_ part of a girl’s anatomy. What was he thinking? He didn’t really want Ron to …in Hermione’s… Ahhh!!!

 

            Bloody hell. Bloody fucking hell, Harry couldn’t stand it one more minute. He needed to get out of this room.

 

            “Don’t even try shagging until you’re really good at the other stuff or there’s no way she’ll get an orgasm from that.”

 

            Shagging Ginny.

 

            Harry almost jumped out of his skin. “Is that it?” he interrupted frantically. “I think we get the idea.”

 

            Charlie nodded, clearly embarrassed and snapped that book shut. “I think that will do. Let's just go over the essentials of contraception, and then we can get this nightmare over with and get the hell out of here.”

 

            For once, Harry agreed with Charlie.

  
  


                                                            * * * * * *

  
  


            “Ohhh, so that’s how it’s done. Cool,” Ginny said with a smile.

 

            Hermione had the uncomfortable feeling that Ginny couldn’t wait to go try out the masturbatory technique that had just been described with the aid of pictures.

 

            She couldn’t believe she had even just _thought_ that sentence. She couldn’t believe she just got a lesson on how to masturbate. Whose life was this anyway?

 

            On the other hand, Hermione wished she could be like Ginny and Adrianna, completely comfortable with her sexuality. “Are you sure it’s really ok to do this?” she asked, feeling foolish for her need for reassurance. “It just doesn’t seem like something good girls do.”

 

            Adrianna looked amused, which wasn’t helping. “Well, if it isn’t then I don’t see why anyone would want to be a _good_ girl.”

 

            Hermione bit her lip. She wanted to try it, but she didn’t think she could. It was almost _too_ embarrassing. For some reason she thought she would be more comfortable if someone else did it to her. Who was she kidding? If Ron did it.

 

            “Is it ok if… a boy does it to you?” she asked shyly, causing Ginny to giggle.

 

            “It’s definitely _ok_. I personally believe when it comes to this stuff, nothing’s wrong as long as you aren’t hurting anyone.” Adrianna leaned back with a pensive look. “But that’s a whole lot trickier than it sounds, especially since the hardest person to keep from getting hurt is yourself. Sex is tricky business, no matter what anyone says. It’s tied to your deepest emotions. It’s a bit of a minefield.”

 

            Well, _that_ made sense. Hermione thought back to the emotional basket-case she had been for the last few days. And they hadn’t even really gone that far. “So what do you do?” she asked. “How do you navigate it all? How do you know when you’re ready?”

 

            “Oh, well,” Adrianna grimaced, “that’s a real hard one.”

 

            “You just know right?” Ginny said cheerfully. She seemed to be feeling better from her hang-over, Hermione thought acerbically.

 

            Adrianna’s face was a mask of skepticism. “I wouldn’t say that. It’s awful easy to convince yourself you’re ready in the heat of the moment. Especially if you tend to have passionate and adventuresome natures like you two do.”

 

            Hermione blushed. She wouldn’t exactly call herself---

 

            “ _Please_ , Hermione, we both know you are not the cautious little bookworm you pretend to be. There is nothing milk-toast about you.”

 

            Hermione smiled a guilty smile. She felt strangely proud, and found it odd that she was starting to find Adrianna’s powers comforting rather than invasive.

 

            “But as I was saying, having the impulsive thought that you are ready isn’t necessarily the end all and be all. Though if you feel you aren’t ready, you better listen to yourself. This is serious business.”

 

            Adrianna looked them over carefully. “Not to be crude, but there is something where I come from called the First Fuck Syndrome.” Hermione couldn’t suppress the nervous laughter as she shared a scandalized look with Ginny. “Basically it’s a nasty phrase created by men to warn others off virgins, but crude as it is, it’s pretty accurate. Basically, it means that the first time you have sex there is this intense emotional reaction. You tend to fall in love with… or think you’re in love with the person you lose your virginity with.”

 

            “Did that happen to you?” Ginny asked eagerly.

 

            Adrianna was thoughtful, but she nodded. “More or less. I guess, I already thought I was in love with him, but it certainly got absurdly intense after. So intense, that it pretty much ruined the relationship, but then again I’m an Empath, which complicates things.”

 

            “Why?” Ginny asked. “I would think it would be useful, you’d know everything the bloke was feeling. You couldn’t misunderstand.”

 

            Adrianna laughed. “You can _always_ misunderstand. The reasons behind the emotions are always up to speculation, especially back then, when I really couldn’t read thoughts. I could feel every doubt, every misgiving. They were all probably normal, but I blew them way out of proportion. And back then, I had a harder time telling which emotions were mine and which were his.”

 

            Hermione was still stuck on an earlier thing Adrianna had said. “ _Thought_ you were in love?”

 

            She smiled. “Yeah, well, I guess I was. It’s just hard to think of it like that after… Well, I’ve had relationships since that were so much more.”

 

            Charlie. Wow. Hermione exchanged glances with Ginny. She felt almost…sad.

 

            “As I was saying,” Adrianna said, pulling them away from their thoughts. Purposefully, no doubt. “The point is that you need to be careful. Be sure that you are ready for the emotions and the _connection_ that sex creates before you do anything. And that goes for the other stuff we talked about today. It’s not as intense, but thought and care should go into the steps. I would also heavily recommend a bit of conversation. You really should be on the same page as your… _partner_ before going any farther.”

 

            The last comment was obviously directed straight at Hermione and she nodded. She got the message. She thought a moment about what Adrianna said before. A horrible thought occurred to her. Hermione swallowed, asking, “Adrianna, this Syndrome, does it apply to boys as well?”

 

            “Sure. Well, it depends. There are some boys that are raised with a rather liberal attitude about sex and losing their virginity is no big deal. But for many boys it’s just the same.”

 

            So if Hermione slept with Ron, then he might fall in love with her. No. No! That was horrible. Horrible, manipulative, awful thing to do. She could _not_ do something like that. No.

 

            “All right. If there are no more questions, then we can move on to the potion part of today’s lesson.” Adrianna’s light tone broke the tension and Hermione nodded in relief and looked at Ginny, hoping she’d let them move on. She was always just _full_ of questions.

 

            Ginny shook her head. “Not at the moment, but if I have any later…?” she asked hopefully.

 

            “I’ll be right here,” Adrianna said positively.

 

            The bright look left Ginny’s face. “’Drana, what are you going to do when we go back to Hogwarts?”

 

            Hermione’s eyes snapped to the older woman’s. She hadn’t thought of that. Truthfully, she hadn’t thought much about their summer coming to an end at all. Would Adrianna go back to America? To lands unknown?

 

            “Well, since the vision I had indicated that Harry and the rest of you are in mortal peril and that I was pretty much required to keep you all safe, I don’t plan to go anywhere.”

 

            “But---” Ginny protested.

 

            “Dumbledore is just going to have to get that guest room ready, ‘cause I’m not leaving your safety to anyone else.”

 

            She was so certain. It must be nice to be so certain. And for some reason it made Hermione feel safe. Odd how much things could change.

 

            Ginny laughed, “I’d love to see Dumbledore’s face when you tell him that. I wonder what he’ll say.”

 

            Adrianna had a look of disdain. “I don’t exactly care, to be honest.”

  
  


                                                            * * * * *

  
  


            Seeing as Bill was indirectly responsible for getting half of the house sick and directly responsible for dismissing their usual methods of receiving food…by relieving Dobby of his duties and sending their mum on holiday…he decided to bring a peace offering. Of course, said offering was a daft Muggle food that was eaten with sticks. At least that was Ron’s opinion.

 

            Harry said that it wasn’t Muggle food, it was just food that people ate in China, but Ron didn’t believe any wizard in their right mind would willingly eat with sticks, no matter what country they were from. Harry didn’t have a chance to argue further, since two bites of the strange food had him headed for the toilet, where said food decided to come right back up. Now, Harry was sullenly nursing a box of white rice. Who put rice in a box anyway?

 

            Dinner, in general, was a quiet affair. Charlie seemed pissed at Bill, which must have been called for as Bill was acting quite guilty and contrite. The girls were still holed away for their lesson. What the hell were they still talking about anyway?

 

            If Ron knew his Hermione, she was probably keeping them up there with her million questions. Somehow, that thought did not comfort him. Maybe they were still up there because they were talking about him. Maybe they were talking about Practicing.

 

            Oh god, how would Adrianna react to that? But then again, she probably had known what was going on all along. Even so, she couldn’t approve. Who would? Maybe Adrianna was convincing Hermione that she needed to march down here and demand a real relationship from him.

 

            Ron smiled. That wouldn’t be so bad. If Hermione _demanded_ , what could he do? She always got what she wanted. Ron couldn’t possibly fight that.

 

            Then again, maybe they were talking about how Hermione just needed to end it. Maybe they were trying to figure out how best to break it to him. Did they even know how much this meant to him? Ron sullenly stabbed at the strange noodles in the box he held.

 

            He didn’t have much longer to slip into a depression before the girls arrived. The room was instantly animated. Adrianna sat next to Charlie, not next to Bill, which instantly relaxed Charlie. She asked after Fleur in a concerned, apologetic voice and his older brothers were drawn into conversation for the first time.

 

            Ginny sat next to Harry and grabbed her stomach at the sight of the bizarre food. Harry offered her the rice and they sat sharing a box and trying to eat with the daft sticks. Ginny kept teasing Harry about some painted sticks. Ron didn’t understand, but then again, he didn’t really care.

 

            Hermione settled next to Ron, carefully avoiding his eyes. It took him long minutes of sitting in silence before he could gather the courage to speak. “Um, so how you feelin’?”

 

            “Good,” she said absently. “I don’t think we drank quite as much as Harry and Ginny.”

 

            Ron snorted. “Yeah, did you hear they finished _both_ their bottles?”

 

            “No, really?” she asked in surprise.

 

            Ron nodded and looked away, wondering if they were going to talk about what they needed to or just continue on with this. “Want some noodly stuff?” he offered.

 

            Hermione shook her head, biting her lip. What if he never got to kiss her again? How could he survive? “I’m not hungry actually. Could we go somewhere and talk?”

 

            “Now?” Ron asked in an embarrassingly high-pitched voice.

 

            She nodded. “I might loose my nerve if we wait.”

 

            Oh shite. Ron nodded, putting down his food. He followed her up the stairs and was surprised when she stopped in the foyer and sat down on the steps. Oh… if they were out in the open it couldn’t lead to snogging. _That_ couldn’t be a good sign.

 

            “So,” she said, sitting primly with her hands folded. “How was your talk with Charlie?”

 

            Ron had to laugh, she was so…adorable. Did she know she had the power to destroy him? He swallowed and sat down next to her. “It was informative. Yours?”

 

            “Same.”

 

            “Well, that’s good.” Ron fixed his gaze on her fingers, and took a deep breath. “Do you feel better about… stuff?”

 

            He saw her smile out of the corner of his eye. “Yeah, it, uh, seems the things that I was feeling weren’t as abnormal as I thought they were.”

 

            “You thought it wasn’t normal?” he asked carefully.

 

            She nodded and spoke in an uncharacteristically small voice. “I didn’t know what to think. I figured only slags felt the way I was feeling, you know? It was just so intense. I figured there was no way good girls had those feelings.”

 

            “That’s not true!” Ron burst out. “I mean, you are good! I mean…” He was making a fool of himself as usual. He couldn’t stand Hermione thinking those things about herself. He shouldn’t have put her in this position. “You are _not_ a slag!”

 

            She smiled gratefully and looked up at him through lowered lashes. “Yeah, well, Adrianna and Ginny were pretty adamant about that, as well.”

 

            “Good, that’s good. Wait, how would Ginny know---?”

 

            “They said it was all normal. Anyways, I have more information now, and that’s good.”

 

            Ron pushed aside the disturbing thoughts about his sister’s sexual knowledge base and tried to concentrate on Hermione. He hadn’t realized how innocent she was. He should have asked, he should have… “I’m sorry, Hermione, I didn’t realize you felt that way. I should have noticed you were uncomfortable. I _knew_ what we were doing. I shouldn’t have pushed---”

 

            “Ron,” she said, shaking her head. “I wasn’t uncomfortable. I was _too_ comfortable, if that makes sense. I mean, I initiated most of it. Oh god, how can you _not_ think I’m a slag?”

 

            “Because you’re not!” He bit back angrily. “We’re not going to start this, you not believing me thing again? ‘Cause it’s really irritating---”

 

            Hermione shook her head, finally meeting his eyes. “No, I believe you. I mean, thanks, Ron.” She reached out and touched his hand, relaxing him.

 

            “You could have just asked me if it was normal. I would have told you,” he said, picking up her hand and playing with her fingers.

 

            “I was embarrassed,” she said softly.

 

            “Yes, well, I can see why. It isn’t often that I know more than you,” he teased.

 

            “Don’t let it get to your head,” Hermione tossed back lightly, her shoulder against his a bit. After a pause she whispered, “The way I’ve been acting, you must really have thought I’d gone---”

 

            “Mental?” Ron offered, helpfully.

 

            “Yeah,” she said with a touch of humor.

 

            “Nothing new about that, is there?” He nudged her shoulder and smiled at her. He was pleased when his teasing resulted in a large smile.

 

            They sat in silence for a few minutes. It was nice. It felt like…them. The old, familiar them.

 

            “Um,” Hermione broke the silence, clearing her throat. “So, what I really wanted to talk to you about…” Ron felt panic rise up in him. “I thought we should talk about how fast we’ve been going. With the Practicing.”

 

            “Yeah, it’s been a bit out of control.” Here it comes. She’s going to break it off.

 

            “So, I thought maybe we should slow down.”

 

            “Ok.” Slow? Slow wasn’t stop. It had promise.

 

            “Good, well then---”

 

            She started to stand, but Ron held her hand and looked at her with his heart in his throat. “Wait, what does that mean? I mean, are you still going to sleep with me? I mean, ‘cause if you do, I can be good. No touching under clothes… or over them if you want. I can---”

 

            Her smile was bright. She stopped him with a hand to his lips. Hermione sat again, closer this time. “What I meant was, that we needed to stop the…acceleration. You know, kind of plateau. Not go any further.”

 

            “Oh!” he said, relieved. That was… well, _much_ better then he expected. “Great, that’s great.”

 

            “Though I think we should, uh… hold off on what we did last night,” she was averting her eyes again. “For now.”

 

            For now? Well, that just destroyed any disappointment he could have felt. He took her hand in both of his and smiled in relief. “As long as you’re comfortable.”

 

            She looked at him strangely, making him uncomfortable, before giving him a kiss on the cheek and laying her head on his shoulder. Ron put his arm around her.

 

            After a moment Hermione asked, “Are you hungry?”

 

            He shook his head. “I’m good, for now.”

  
  


                                                            * * * * *

 

 

 

            Harry wasn’t coming. Ginny was sure of it. He never came. Well, often he didn’t come. So there was no need to gets her hopes up. She should just go to sleep. She should close her eyes and sleep. Sleep, damn it!

 

            So what, if the household had only gone to bed a half-hour ago? So what, if he had to wait until everyone else was safely sleeping? So what, if he promised? Clearly, Harry wasn’t coming and Ginny refused to sit there clutching the watch and waiting for him.

 

            Ginny looked down at the hand which was curled around the watch and held to her chest as she lay curled under the covers in a futile attempt to remain nonchalant. She really was pathetic. No doubt---

 

            “Hey.”

 

            Ginny forced herself not to smile _too_ brightly as she looked up to see Harry leaning against the door frame and smiling at her shyly.

 

            “So,” he asked, “how was your day?” He smiled a teasing half-smile and her heart flipped.

 

            “Not bad,” she said casually. “The whole hang-over thing was interesting. The lessons were…informative. You?”

 

            “Well,” he said with self-deprecatory humor. “I learned the proper way to shag from the man who in all likelihood learned to shag from my cousin. All for the sole purpose of making sure my best mate knows how to properly shag my other best mate.”

 

            Ginny couldn’t hold in the laughter any longer, and it erupted in loud spurts. When she caught her breath she commented, “That good then?”

 

            He nodded.

 

            “Well, this might make you feel better.” Ginny held out the watch and he smiled. “So, you going to come in or what?” Harry shifted nervously, before smiling bashfully and stepping into the room. He closed and locked the door behind him.

  


 

                                                            * * * * *

 

 


	31. Lull

Tonight, Alexi and Helana were walking through the forest.  Harry sensed a deep foreboding in the air.  It was different from the previous nights.

 

Harry and Ginny had been doing this for over a week now.  Every night, they met in her room, touched the watch, and shared the same dream.  For the most part, they had been happy dreams.  Well, every dream since the one with Hilda had been happy.  They were dreams of two people, in love, getting to know one another.

 

Dreams where Harry got to kiss Ginny every night.  Something he’d never be able to do during the day.  Though with every day that passed, when Harry looked at Ginny during the day … he was starting to think that he was confusing his feelings with Alexi’s.  It was getting harder and harder to separate them.  Especially mid-dream when Alexi’s love and concern for the woman whose arm he held so carefully filled Harry completely.

 

He could feel Ginny—Helana, pressed up against him in the cool air as they slowly made their way through the woods.  These dreams were always so real.  Harry could feel every damn sensation as they followed an old wizened wizard in a plain brown cloak.  They walked and they walked and they walked.  

 

Alexi’s fatigue from the long journey was palpable.  Harry worried about Ginny.  Helana must be having difficulty keeping up.  Why they had to walk and couldn’t use magic to get where they were going was completely beyond him.  It was strange to walk so much in a dream.

 

Finally, buried in the thickest part of the wood, they came upon a small cottage.  It was tightly wedged between a hill and a large oak tree, looking almost like it was built _inside_ the earth, formed from the tangled roots of the tree.  The small structure was covered with foliage and moss.  If one didn’t know what they were looking for, it could be easily missed.

 

Helana began to tremble as they neared the cottage.  Harry didn’t need to be an Empath to sense her distress, and he hated it.  She clung to him as they entered the dwelling.  

 

Inside, there was only one room.  In the center was a carved wooden bed, containing an old woman.  Helana took a shaky breath and clutched his arm tighter.  In moments like this, Harry couldn’t help but worry Ginny would be hurt by the overwhelming emotions, even if she _did_ repeatedly deny it.

 

The old woman opened her eyes, and Helana left her husband, flying to her side.  “Mama,” she cried.  Harry felt a lump in his throat at the sight.  As he got a closer look, he realized that the witch wasn’t all _that_ old after all.  She was just …just _worn_.

 

“Oh, you know better than to worry about your old mama,” the woman croaked, struggling to sit.  

 

Helana sat on the side of the bed, grasping her mother’s hand.  Teary, she shook her head, managing to say, “I’m just glad to see you, Mama.  I haven’t seen you in three years.”

 

“Dear, you can’t fool an old Empath like me.  I could sense your fear miles away.  I’m always with you, my girl.  I can _always_ sense you,” the woman rasped with a strange eerie intensity and Helana attempted a smile.

 

Harry tried to take it all in.  This woman was an Empath.  An _old_ Empath, which meant that Adrianna was not the first one to live past the age of twenty-four.  It had most certainly happened before.

 

“Come here, dear,” the old woman called to Alexi.  “Let me meet the man my dear husband chose for my little girl.”

 

Alexi swallowed as he stepped forward.  Harry could feel the mix of the anxious exhilaration of wanting his wife’s mother to like him, and the strong desire to remove Helana from this place.  A place that could only bring her pain.  

 

The woman’s frail hand curl over his own.  “Lovely choice,” she proclaimed.  “Now, my son, you must be strong.  I expect you to take care of my girl in the dark times ahead.”  

 

Fear squeezed Alexi’s heart so strongly that Harry choked from it.  Helana looked up at him with a flat, accepting expression, but Harry could see the misery hidden deep within, but maybe that was Ginny he sensed.  

 

Helana turned back to her mother with a hard set to her jaw.  “You’re dying, aren’t you?  That’s why you called for me,” she said in a strangely emotionless tone.  She was trying to be strong, but she was too young for this much pain, this much responsibility.  It was overwhelming for her.  That was something she and Harry had in common.

 

The old Empath waved a wizened hand, carelessly dismissing her own death.  “Yes, yes, but that is unimportant.  I have called you here because I have had a vision.  The last vision I will have in my lifetime.”  She fixed them with surprisingly clear hazel eyes.  “We need to speak of your sister, Hilda.”

 

Again, Alexi shared a look with his wife.  This was what he had been worried about.  It was the dark cloud that hung over the happy newly-weds.  Always, there was the fear of Hilda.  

 

Over the past few nights, Harry and Ginny had learned that Hilda, now with her murdered husband’s fortune and titles, had taken up with a powerful wizard said to be entrenched in the dark arts.  It was highly suspected that she was a murderer in the wizarding community, but no one was brave enough to confront her.  

 

The ways of mid-evil wizarding community were strange to Harry.  Whether it was Hilda’s position or a general fear of her, no one seemed to be doing anything about the murder of her husband.

 

“Listen to me, my daughter,” the witch began.  “Hilda is more dangerous then you know.  There is no good left in her.  Even here in my sanctuary I can feel it.  A dark Empath is a threat to the entire world.  The wizarding world knows this and if they fear her enough they will turn against us all _._ They willseek to destroy the Empath legacy forever.  You, Helana, _you_ will need to stop your sister, but above all you _must_ preserve our line.”

 

Tears poured down Helana’s face and Alexi’s heart broke for her.  He moved to grip her shoulder.  She shook her head frantically.  “No, Mama, I can’t.  What could _I_ do to stop Hilda?”

 

“You are stronger than you think.  And so very powerful.  You are just young and have yet to grow into your full abilities.  Artimitis will help you,” she gestured to the old wizard beside them.

 

“ _You_ need Artimitis, Mama.  How will you survive—?”

 

The woman laughed, a soft tired sound.  “Oh, my child, I shall not survive the night.”

 

Helana’s voice cracked as she said, “Hilda is coming here in several days, she is expecting—”

 

 “Her due as the eldest surviving Empath in the line.  I know.  But I will be gone by then.  Hilda is not my heir any longer.  She is _not_ my daughter.”

 

Helana’s shoulders tensed under Alexi’s hands and one hand moved up to grasp his.  Harry knew what kind of danger this was putting Helana in.  It would make her the primary focus of her sister’s wrath.  Old misgivings that had been pushed aside rose in Harry.  Could what he and Ginny were doing ultimately hurt her?

 

“But, Mama—”

 

“I am also giving you my wand.”

 

This time Harry was sure the shock he was feeling came from him and not Alexi.  He desperately wished he could move, could talk to Ginny.  But all he could do is look through Alexi’s eyes at the champagne colored wand being handed to his wife, Adrianna’s wand.

 

Helana took the wand with reverence and held it to her like it was the most precious of gifts.  “ _This_ ,” she murmured, “Hilda will _never_ forgive.”

 

“That wand has been in our family for more generations than can be counted.  It will _never_ fall into a dark witch’s hands,” the old witch said fervently.  She then fell back against the pillows, her hand pressed to her forehead.

 

“We’re hurting you, aren’t we?”  Helana breathed.  “By being so close.”

 

The woman smiled.  It was clear that she had been beautiful.  Once.  “Never you mind.  It won’t be long now.”

 

Harry felt Alexi steel himself, gathering his courage.  “You realize the danger you are putting Helana in?”  he asked the old woman.

 

Again she smiled and said matter-of-factly.  “We are all in grave danger.  Helana must fight.  You must protect her.  Now come here, my child.”  She reached for Helana’s face and her daughter came to her readily.  The Witch brushed the tears from her face, kissing her on both cheeks.  “Good bye now, my dear.”  She reached for a vial next to her bed.

 

“What are you _doing_?”  Helana asked in a panicked voice.

 

“I mustn’t be here when your sister arrives,” her mother told her, uncapping the vial.

 

“No!”  Helana screamed reaching for her.  Instinctively, Alexi wrapped his arms around her from behind, keeping her away.

 

The witch smiled a sad bitter smile.  “Suicide is a great legacy amongst us Empaths.  I hope _this_ particular legacy dies with me.”  Helana made a final lunge for her as the old woman drank, slipping into a final sleep with a smile on her face.

 

“No,” Helana sobbed, “No, no, no.”  Alexi held her and let her cry for long excruciating moments.

  
  


* * * * *

 

 

 

Ginny woke up slowly, strangely.  It was different from the other the times she had awoken from a watch induced dream.  

 

At first, she was merged with Helana, feeling all the complex feelings she felt, every sensation completely real.  Then gradually Ginny could feel herself separating, floating away, slowly coming back to herself.  For a time, Ginny actually thought she was looking down and watching Helana wrapped in her husband’s arms.  It was a long time before she was herself again, lying in her curtained bed at Grimmauld Place.

 

Opening her eyes and taking a deep, breath Ginny savored the feeling of being herself again.  She loved being Helana, really she did.  It was fascinating, exciting, exhilarating, and best of all she got to kiss Harry.  Well, sort of.  

 

It was _exhausting_ though, being an Empath, even for the short time.  It was hard enough to deal with Helana’s emotions and her own, but to deal with everyone else’s?  Ginny had often wondered if she was actually feeling Harry’s emotions as well, but it was impossible to tell.  

 

The truth was, Ginny found it difficult to tell whose emotions were whose, especially when they were intense.  Adrianna had mentioned having problems with this when she was younger.  How did she live like that?  At least Ginny got to wake up.

 

Emotions were more complex and confusing than she ever realized.  Every day that passed made Ginny more mystified about her own feelings.  Spending so much time with Harry, being inside two people that were truly in love and feeling _that_ emotion, the one thing that Ginny was sure of was that all these years she had thought she was in love with Harry, she hadn’t a clue.

 

It was clear to Ginny now that what she had felt was hero worship, just as Harry had accused her of.  All that time, she was angry with him for ignoring her when she was dreaming of an image of perfection that never existed.  Harry was just … just a boy.  A shy, insensitive, often daft, but usually sweet _boy_ , who believed that the world was his responsibility.  Probably because everyone expected it to be.  But he was still just a boy.

 

So here Ginny was, coming to grips with her hero worship and school-girl crush, with an intensifying friendship.  And the burning question was what did she feel now?  She _almost_ felt like she was beginning to develop genuine feelings for Harry.  Yet, with Helana’s feelings so enmeshed with her own, how could she even know?

 

Ginny pulled back the curtains to her bed and looked over to see that Harry’s remained drawn.  She had convinced Ron to transfigure their beds several days ago, just before their Mum and Dad came back from holiday.  She had told him that if their beds had curtains and their mother peeked in on them, she wouldn’t be able to tell that Hermione wasn’t in her bed.

 

Ron had fallen for it immediately.  He was too distracted by Hermione to guess that his sister was really hiding the fact that Harry had been sleeping in that very bed for more than a week.  Lucky for them, their mother had not been poking around anyway.  

 

Ginny was fairly certain that Mrs.  Weasley had been firmly staying to the fourth floor during the nights.  Her daughter was also fairly certain she knew why.  Mrs. Weasley was horribly afraid she would find out something she didn’t want to know about Adrianna and Charlie.  Like, perhaps, _they_ were sharing a room.  

 

Given Charlie’s age, there was nothing their mum could do about it if she found out, so she was taking a firm “what I don’t know can’t hurt me” status.  At least that’s what Ginny reckoned.  The irony was Adrianna and Charlie were the only ones _not_ sharing a room.  The way those two had been acting … well, they certainly weren’t having any _release_.

 

Ginny began to worry as she continued to stare at Harry’s curtains.  After a dream he almost always woke up before her.  She went over to Harry’s bed and carefully pulled back the curtain.  He was still sleeping, muttering something in his sleep.  Was he still in the dream?  The idea of him continuing the dream without her was, well, annoying.

 

“Harry!”  Ginny called, a bit _too_ loudly, making him jerk awake.

 

He blinked up at her and let out a deep breath, running his hands over his face, breathing, “Ginny,” with what sounded like relief.  Harry’s hand reached out and blindly searched for his glasses in a practiced way.  He found them quickly and put them on.  The familiar move struck Ginny as oddly endearing.  Somehow it showed how vulnerable her boy hero was.  

 

“Are you ok?”  Harry panted, catching his breath.

 

Ginny had to grit her teeth to force herself not to get irritated by the over-asked question.  “Fine.”  She narrowed her eyes at him, accusing, “You’ve got that look in your eyes, the one where you are afraid I’m going to break.”

 

Harry gave a short huff of a laugh and a lopsided smile, making her heart melt, the stupid git.  He came up on his elbows, making his t-shirt stretch across his chest and biceps.  Everyday they became more defined.  Fancy him or not, he sure was attractive.  And old habits died hard.  

 

“Gin, a heard of stampeding hippogriffs couldn’t break you,” Harry said, filling her stomach with a fluttery sensation.  Then the smile left his face.  “This is actually my, ‘I think we need to tell’ face.”   

 

Ginny sighed.  She supposed this had been coming.  It had been almost a week without either of them mentioning the issue.  They had been lulled by pleasant, romantic dreams.  Dreams that they were too _embarrassed_ to speak of in the daylight.  

 

When they had first started these nightly rituals, Ginny had thought the decision to tell or not to tell was irrelevant.  They were just biding their time.  Eventually, Adrianna would read them at the right moment and that would be the end.  

 

After the party, most of Adrianna’s clarity seemed to be intact, her and Charlie having seemed to have reached a truce.  Ginny and Harry had worked hard to hide their secret and had almost been caught more than once.  

 

They had got through two days and were sure that they wouldn’t get through a third when Bill had come over for a “friendly” visit that, somehow, sparked a display of Charlie’s previously unseen, _insane_ possessiveness.  Insane to the point of making Ron’s little tantrums look like child’s play.

 

It quickly became a _three_ - _hour_ yelling match, in _various_ languages.  Ginny knew they must have been really flustered because they never even got around to putting up the Imperturbable.  In the end, Adrianna emerged tearstained and distracted, and Charlie left a pile of broken vases and a hole in the wall.  

 

After that, Ginny and Harry’s secret was amazingly easy to keep.  Though, sometimes, Ginny wished it wasn’t.  If her brother and Adrianna couldn’t work out things soon, well, then he really _did_ need to go back to Romania.

 

“Ginny, we need to talk about this, ignoring me—”

 

She pulled herself away from her thoughts, “Sorry, I wasn’t.  I was just thinking.”  Ginny made herself concentrate on Harry’s worried expression.  “Look, Harry, you’re over-reacting.  Just because one dream wasn’t happy, doesn’t mean there’s any looming danger.  It was actually a really cool dream.”

 

He frowned, challenging, “What about Hilda?”  

 

Ginny purposefully gave him a teasing look.  “Hilda is a danger to Helana, not to us.  In case you didn’t notice, Hilda’s dead, for, oh, a couple centuries give or take.”

 

Harry rolled his eyes.  “I noticed.  But even so, it feels wrong, keeping the secret.  Especially after seeing Adrianna’s wand in the dream.”

 

Ginny’s eyes widened.  “Her—?”

 

“You didn’t realize?”

 

She hadn’t, but now that he mentioned it, Ginny felt quite stupid for not noticing the similarity.  How many people had champagne-colored, engraved wands?  But still, who used wands that were centuries old?  “Are you sure, Harry?  It was so long ago.”

 

“Pretty sure.”

 

“Is it a family heirloom?”

 

Harry shook his head.  “She told me that she got it in India as a child.  An old wizard told her father that it was meant for her.”

 

“Oh.”  Ginny held her breath as the ramifications washed over her.  She swallowed.  “Look, I want to get a good look at Adrianna’s wand.  If it’s definitely the same then,”  Ginny’s eyes burned, “we’ll tell her.  But before we do, we talk about it.  I want to plan carefully the best way to present it.  Maybe she’ll be reasonable and not confiscate the watch.”

 

Yeah right.  Good chance of that.  Ginny was beginning to feel desperate.  The idea of giving up the watch made her feel empty and alone.

 

Harry searched her face for long moments before nodding.  “What about Charlie?”

 

Ginny scoffed, thinking of her brother’s behavior lately.  “Charlie’s a hot head.  Too unpredictable.  I say we stick with Adrianna.”  Harry nodded again and looked away.

 

Ginny rolled her eyes, her patience wearing thin.  “What’s the look for this time?”

 

Harry swallowed and couldn’t meet her eyes, he laid back down on the bed, throwing his arms above this head, again with the muscles.  Ugh!  Always distracting her.  What was wrong with her?

 

“I’m starting to feel really guilty about keeping this from Ron and Hermione,” Harry whispered.  “I mean, I felt justified before because they had their own little secrets, but, well, their whole snogging thing, it’s not really _that_ secret.”  He looked back at Ginny and there was a bit of a smile in his eyes.

 

Ginny laughed, relieved at the break in the tension.  “No, I reckon, their ‘relationship’ is not so much a secret.  At least not from us.”

 

“Maybe from themselves.”  They both laughed at his joke.

 

Ginny sobered first.  “Harry, I know they’re your best mates ….”  she trailed off feeling that familiar feeling of exclusion.  If Hermione and Ron knew about the watch, would that take away from the specialness?  

 

“They’re two of them,” Harry said so softly that she barely heard.  Her eyes searched his face the meaning behind his words.  He had that shy expression back.  It brought a lump to her throat.

 

Silence stretched between them, but it was _uncomfortable_.  She lay back next to Harry.  He looked over and smiled at her.  She smiled back.  They didn’t speak any more that night.  She didn’t go back to her bed either.

 

Ginny just wished she knew what it all meant.  They were friends.  Were they more?  Could they be more?  She really needed to know, because she had a pile of letters amassing.  

 

And she really needed to decide what she was going to do about Dean.

  


  
  


                                                            * * * * *

 

 

  


Every morning, Hermione awoke before Ron.  Every morning, she could feel his strong arm loosely gripping her waist, his hand having somehow made its way _under_ her top in the middle of the night.  His breathing was always warm and steady in her ear.  She could always feel the comforting thump of his heartbeat behind her.

 

In the warm haze of the predawn hour, in her drowsy half-awake state, Hermione liked to pretend.  She would imagine that they were older.  This was their bed.  Ron was hers.  Sometimes they were even married, but always, _always_ he loved her.  It wasn’t hard to pretend.

 

The war was over, there was nothing to fear, and there was nothing to get out of bed for.  There was only her and the man she loved.  She’d imagine that Ron would wake slowly and there would be groggy, whispered ‘I love you’s and they would spend all day in bed.

 

This was Hermione’s favorite time of day.

 

Then the first light of day would filter through the curtains, and Hermione would slip away and make her way to her own cold bed.  Sometimes, Ron wouldn’t even wake.  Sometimes, he would and he’d pull her closer and beg for a few more minutes.   _Those_ were the best mornings.

 

That was when it was easiest to believe that her plan was working.  When Ron was warm and happy, Hermione could believe that soon he would want to be with her like this forever, that he wouldn’t be able to imagine their lives any other way.  

 

Just like she couldn’t.  She wanted to ruin Ron for any other girl.  She wanted to give him so much love that no one else would ever be able to compete.  Hermione reached out and peaked through the curtain, relieved that it was still dark in the room.  

 

“Mmm,” Ron sleepily hummed in her ear making her smile.  It was accompanied by a large rough hand rubbing across the tender skin of her belly and a stretch that inevitably lead to his morning erection being pressed into her bum.  Hermione sighed happily.  Looked like this was going to be one of _those_ mornings.

 

Wet, lazy kisses were pressed along the back of her neck and under her chin.  Hermione arched slightly, giving him better access.  “Don’t go,” Ron murmured between kisses.

 

She smiled to herself.  “I can’t stay forever,” Hermione protested softly, even as she knew it was still early and had no intention of leaving just yet.  Ron convincing her to stay was the best part.

 

Ron nodded as if to say she certainly could stay forever and pulled her more tightly against him, his kisses becoming more insistent.

 

Hermione moaned.  “Well, I suppose we have a little—”

 

She squealed a bit in surprise as Ron growled and flipped her over onto her back.  His lips descended on hers without preamble.  The lazy early morning seduction dissipated without a trace as his tongue demanded entrance.  Hermione was having trouble keeping up with his passion, allowing him to devour her, while she felt her heart rate slowly speed to match his own.  

 

Finally, she had to break away, gasping for breath.  She chuckled as he immediately began attacking her throat with equal fervor.  “You have more energy than usual this morning,” Hermione panted.

 

“Had a dream,” Ron muttered against her skin.

 

Pleasure filled her.  He laved her pulse.  “About me?”

 

“Who else?”

 

Hermione closed her eyes.  She loved his passion.  “Was it a good dream?”  she teased, receiving a groan and bite in answer.  She couldn’t suppress a giggle.  Oh no, it wasn’t hard to pretend at all.

 

Languid warmth filled her as he dragged his lips over her collar bone and his thumbs teased the underside of her breast.  Abruptly he changed course and his mouth closed over her nipple through her night shirt.  A gasp escaped her and Hermione was glad that,  for once, they hadn’t forgotten the Imperturbable.

 

The now familiar rays of pleasure shot through her body and she had to push Ron away.  Hermione concentrated on controlling her breath and the sensations coursing through her.

 

“What?”  Ron whined, eyes glazed with lust.

 

She squeezed her eyes shut against the sight, as it only worsened the problem.  “I told you,” she gasped, “that makes me too … _frustrated_.”  Hermione knew that stopping him wasn’t going to further her plan, but she had her own sanity to think about as well.

 

Ron sighed and she felt his weight leave her and shift next to her on the bed.  “Haven’t you,” he began in a serious, but pleading voice, “you _know_ , tried … taking care of it?”

 

Her eyes snapped open.  Over the last week Ron had become uncomfortably _comfortable_ talking about sexual matters.  And while Hermione knew she had been the one to suggest an open dialogue, it always made her cheeks painfully warm.  

 

Hermione swallowed.  “I haven’t had the opportunity.”  The words came out haughty, which she hadn’t intended.  It made Ron chuckle and her cheeks grow even warmer.

 

She kept her eyes fixed straight ahead, even as Ron tried to coax them back to his with a soft finger on her cheek.  “There’s always the shower,” he suggested helpfully.  Such a little helper he’d become.

 

The shower.  Hermione could just imagine it.  Standing there while she tried … no, it wouldn’t do.  She chanced a glance at Ron, he actually looked concerned.  “Ron,” she said in a small voice.  “Look, I’ve tried.  It’s just weird and embarrassing …” her voice trailed off, feeling as if she mislead him.  She hadn’t tried very hard.

 

“It’s not weird or embarrassing,” Ron insisted.  “You’ll feel better.”

 

Hermione frowned.  Ron must just be _loving_ this.  Knowing he had so much more knowledge about something than she had.  “I could always try sleeping in my own bed,” she countered.  This time the haughtiness was intentional.  “I’ll have more time to experiment.”

 

Ron grinned widely at her.   _Not_ the response she wanted.  “You could experiment here.  I don’t mind.”

 

Hermione frowned at him, though mostly to suppress her smile, and took a swing at him.  He laughed and caught her hand.  They struggled for a moment, which turned into a wrestling match.  Hermione knew Ron was going easy on her, otherwise she’d have no chance.  The thought aroused her even more.

 

Finally, Ron flipped her on to her back again and met her with another long, unfathomably deep kiss.  He broke off and looked deeply into her eyes.  Hermione couldn’t quite make out his expression, but felt it was a good sign.  Yes, her plan was working brilliantly.

 

“Seriously though,” Ron said with a cocky smile.  “If you need help learning that particular technique, I’m at your full disposal.”

 

Laughing, Hermione pushed him off of her with a hard shove.  “I’ll keep that in mind,” she said sardonically, as she grabbed her wand and lifted the Imperturbable around the bed.  He groaned as she pulled back the curtain, putting an end to their morning romp.  She knew how he felt.  

 

Hermione started to climb off the bed just as Harry slipped through the door, looking tired.  She narrowed her eyes.

 

“Hey, mate,” Ron called casually.  “You’re up early.”

 

The look on Harry’s face was clearly that of a guilty man.  “Just ran to the loo,” he explained, climbing back into bed.

 

Sure, he had, Hermione thought.  Turning to Ron, she grabbed his arm.  “Didn’t you say you had to go to the loo?”  She gave him a pointed look.

 

He looked at her as if she were mental, but then said, “Uh yeah,” and allowed Hermione to drag him down the hall into the lavatory and close the door.

 

When she turned to look at Ron, he was smiling at her knowingly, clearly indicating that the daft boy didn’t know _anything_ at all about why she had pulled him in here.  He closed in on her again.  “If you wanted a bit more, love …”

 

Hermione probably wouldn’t have let him kiss her if Ron hadn’t used the endearment, but it never failed to melt her resistance.  Besides, talk like that should be encouraged.  So, she let her lips slide across his for a few moments.  

 

When she felt herself begin to lose control she pulled away.  “Ron, I didn’t pull you in here for that.  We need to talk,” she told him as sternly as she could manage.

 

But Ron, ever the one-track mind had begun to attack her neck again.  What would happen if—when, had to think positively.  _When_ they got into a real relationship?  How would they get anything done?  

 

Concentrate, damn it!  Hermione managed to say, “About Harry.  And Ginny.”

 

Ron paused immediately, seeming to wilt.  He groaned, “Not this again.”

 

Taking advantage of his distraction, she pressed on.  “They’re hiding something, Ron.  And Harry did _not_ come from the loo.”

 

Ron gave a long suffering look as he straightened up and towered over her.  Was he getting _taller_?  He placed a hand on the wall next to Hermione’s head and leaned on it slightly.  “Then where did he come from?” he asked wearily.

 

“Ginny’s,” Hermione told him with confidence.

 

He rolled his eyes.  “Why would he …?”  Then he stiffened.  “You don’t think they’re—”?”

 

“No.  If they were together Ginny’d be … _giddier_ or something.  We’d know.  Well, _I’d_ know.  It’s something else.”

 

“Hermione,” Ron whined, “you’re not making sense.”

 

“They’re always off, alone, talking, whispering.”

 

“So, they’re friends, they’ve gotten closer.  Mighty nice of Ginny to keep Harry company while we Practice,” he grinned wolfishly and swayed toward her again.

 

Hermione stopped him with two hands on his chest.  Must maintain concentration.  “Then why the secrecy?”

 

He sighed.  “There’s no secrecy.  Fine, hey, I’ve got an idea.  Why don’t we ask them?”

 

Ron was so naive.  “If we ask them then they’ll know we know and hide the evidence.”

 

He had the nerve to laugh at her.  “You’re worse than Moody.  Why would they lie to us?”

 

“Why would they keep secrets?” Hermione countered, crossing her arms over her chest.

 

Ron frowned at her, finally saying, “Fine, we’ll do it your way.  We _always_ do.  But if you don’t want to Practice anymore, let me shower, will you.  I’ve got this little problem to take of.”  He gave her a pained expression and gestured to his groin.

 

Hermione bit her lip against the laughter as she glanced down at his problem.  “Doesn’t look so little to me.”

 

He turned and fixed her with an astonished expression.  “Hermione Granger, did you just make a dirty joke?”  Ron asked with awe.

 

She threw him an innocent look and slipped out of the room before the giggles started again.  Heavens, she was giggling a lot.

 

Back in her room.  Hermione found no evidence that Harry had been there and Ginny’s curtains were drawn.  Hermione’s bed was carefully made, though a simple charm could have taken care of that.  Climbing into her bed, Hermione forced herself to go over everything Harry and Ginny had been doing over the last few days.  

 

After all, it was certainly better than thinking about taking Ron up on his offer to help her learn new _techniques_.

  


  


* * * * *

 

 

 

 

“The cutting charm is extremely dangerous.  Easy to perform badly.  Difficult to perform well,” Adrianna instructed her four pupils as they stood on the ball room.  Each had a small table and a loaf of bread that they had transfigured from a rock in an earlier lesson.  “It can be used for everything from cutting thread to cutting a man’s throat.  When used with precision, it is one of our best defenses.”

 

Ron rolled his eyes.  Adrianna had shown them the charm a good half-hour ago and, since then, was merely repeating herself.  They got it.  It was dangerous.  Blah blah blah.  How much damage were they going to do to a loaf of bread, anyway?

 

 _Finally_ , Adrianna told them they could start.  Ron took a deep breath and waved his wand carefully over the bread, _“Presis Scindo!”_ A small jagged rip formed at the top of the bread.  He frowned.  Oh well, not _that_ bad a start.  He tried again with the same result.

 

Ron looked around the room to see how the others were doing, but as always, his eyes were immediately drawn to Hermione and they wouldn’t go any farther.  Her brow was knit with concentration, and her lips were pursed.  He tried not to grin at her like besotted idiot.  

 

She said the spell with the epitome of precision, _“Presis Scindo!”_ A lovely smooth slice fell next to the loaf.  Ron shook his head, always _so_ perfect at everything.  Though, apparently Hermione didn’t think so, because she frowned at the slice and put her hands on her hips, clearly trying to think of a way to make the cut _more_ perfect.

 

He had to force himself to look back at his bread.  Ron closed his eyes, trying to clear his mind.  Unlike the majority of lessons, this stuff was necessary to learn.  One day someone he loved may— _would_ be in danger and he needed to know how to do this.

 

But first Ron needed to clear his mind of the perfection of Hermione.  He needed to stop thinking about her adorable pout and how warm she felt next to him this morning or how he wanted to freeze time so they never had to leave that bed.  So, there would be no Hogwarts, no leaving Grimmauld Place, no future boyfriends banging at her door, and no Death Eaters trying to kill her …

 

 _That_ got him focused again.  Ron gritted his jaw and envisioned the bread slicing straight through.   _“Presis Scindo!”_ A slice fell to the table.  He picked it up and examined it.  The slice looked more like it was torn from the loaf than carefully sliced, but it was certainly an improvement.  

 

He took a bite of the bread.  It was quite good.  At least his bread always _tasted_ better than Hermione’s, he thought with satisfaction.  He caught her eye and grinned wolfishly as he stuffed the rest of the slice in his mouth.  She was shaking her head in disapproval, but he knew she wanted to laugh.

 

 “’Drana.”  The name called from the doorway caught Ron’s attention.  He turned to see Bill calling out, “I need to speak with you.”

 

Ron frowned and shared a look with Harry before looking over to their teacher.  Adrianna had a long-suffering look, and clear “what now” face.  They were all thinking the same thing.  What the _hell_ did Bill want now?  And, oh yeah, thank God Charlie’s not here.

 

After a moment, Adrianna crossed her arms and nodded.  She called out, “Take a short break,” before going over to speak with Bill.

 

Ron watched them carefully.  After the last fight Adrianna and Charlie had, he and Harry had discussed matters.  Things were getting out of hand.  His brothers were going too far.  All they were accomplishing with their rivalry was driving a wedge between themselves and making Adrianna upset, and the more upset she got, the weaker she got.

 

Ron and Harry agreed.  They couldn’t let this go any further.  They would step in if necessary.  It was rapidly approaching the point where Bill needed to stay away from Grimmauld Place _or_ Charlie needed to go back to Romania.  Or both.

 

Ron felt someone nudge his side and looked down to see Hermione next to him.  The frown on his face softened as her scent invaded him and threatened to dissipate all other thoughts.  

 

When Ron met her gaze Hermione made a sweeping gesture with his eyes.  He followed her gaze over to Harry and Ginny across the room.  They seemed to be arguing.  Harry had his arms tightly crossed over his chest as he was listening to Ginny whisper furiously.  His gaze alternated between Ginny and Adrianna, an occasional hissed reply coming out.

 

Ron’s eyes narrowed.  What were they going on about?  It could just be Harry’s concern about Adrianna.  Was Ginny defending their brothers and if so, why keep it from Ron and Hermione?  Maybe they _were_ hiding something.

 

“I just don’t think it’s a good idea,” Adrianna’s voice drifted over as she broke away from Bill and walked back into the room.

 

Bill sighed in frustration.  “Adrianna, we need you.”

 

Adrianna wasn’t fazed by the argument and instead began moving the tables back against the walls.  “You’ve been doing just fine without me.  Come on, kids, we need to move this upstairs.  There’s going to be an Order of the Phoenix meeting in here.”

 

“I can’t believe this,” Bill said incredulously.  “You’re not going to join.”

 

Ron shared glances with the other “kids” as he grabbed his bread and made for the stairs.  Hermione was struggling to hold the loaf and all her perfect slices.  Ha!  Eating them didn’t look like such a bad idea now, huh?

 

“Bill,” Adrianna sighed, urging her pupils to ascend the stairs.  “It’s not that I don’t want to.  It’s just _they_ aren’t ready.  The others don’t trust me—”

 

“We—”

 

“I _know_ you and Charlie do.  But look, I don’t have the energy to foist myself on the rest right now.  I can’t stand in a room full of people, all their distrust and hostility focused on me.”  Adrianna stood back to allow her students to climb the stairs before following.  Her voice lowered.  “I wouldn’t be any good to you anyway.”  

 

“This is important,” Bill yelled after them.

 

“Yes, it is.  So is training and protecting the kids.  I think I’ll concentrate on that.”  Adrianna wore a weary look as she ushered them into the Drawing room.

 

“’Drana,” Hermione asked carefully.  “Don’t you …?  Isn’t it important that you find out what’s happening in the meeting?”

 

Adrianna grinned.  “You mean that _you_ find out,” she teased, causing Hermione to blush.  “Don’t worry, I’ll just read one of them after the meeting,” she said cheekily and Hermione laughed.

 

While setting up their bread carving stations again, Ron noticed Harry and Ginny had resumed their frantic whispering.  This time it was clearly _not_ the Bill/Charlie issue.  Finally, Ginny stepped away from Harry with a stubborn look on her face.  Harry reached out to hold her back, but being Ginny, she was far too stubborn to be deterred.

 

 “Adrianna,” she called with false sweetness.  “Could I possibly look at your wand for a minute?  It’s so, you know, unusual, and Harry says …” Ginny faded of with a barely auditable gulp.

 

Harry was glaring daggers at her, and Adrianna was looking at her with suspicion.  Hermione mirrored her look with narrowed eyes and crossed arms.

 

“What is going on, Ginny?”  Adrianna asked, looking at her intensely.  Now, Harry had a panicked look on his face.  

 

Ginny look a couple of steps back, shaking her head.  “Nothing, I just wanted to look at it—”

 

“ _Ginny_ —” Adrianna warned.

 

She was broken of by the sound of a door slamming downstairs, followed by a loud thump.  Then Charlie’s bellow came wafting up the stairs.  “Adrianna, I need you!  Now!”

 

She didn’t pause.  She ran.  Out the door and down the stairs, leaving no doubt that Apparition couldn’t have been faster.  Ron paused for a moment, trying to figure out what was happening, but Harry followed, then Ginny, and Hermione pulled at his arm, before running after them.

 

Ron was the last one onto the steps.  He almost toppled Hermione over as she came to an abrupt stop when the foyer came into view.  Harry was frozen in a look of rage.  Ginny turned to him and clutched his arm pleading, “Harry.”

 

Ron had to wrap an arm around Hermione to prevent her from falling as her knees buckled.  Anger, fear, fury filled ever fiber of his being as he stared at the scene in front of him.

 

There, surrounded by a half dozen members of the Order, on his knees, with his hands and feet bound, was the man who had terrorized Ron’s nightmares for the last two months.

 

 _Dolohov_.

 

  
  


* * * * *

 


	32. Unspoken

When Hermione first saw Dolohov, she felt as if the wind were knocked from her.  The muscles of her abdomen contracted, and she thought that this must be what it feels like to get hit in the stomach with a Bludger.  Her heart started to beat so fast that she had to fight to breathe.  Dizziness over came her.

 

In that moment, Hermione wasn’t on the stairs at Grimmauld Place.  She was in the Department of Mysteries, where the light was dim, and the air thick.  Dolohov’s ugly twisted face was approaching her, his eyes boring into her, as his arm slashed and his lips moved wordlessly.  

 

Her knees weakened, and with so small amount of shame, Hermione realized that she was going to collapse and there was nothing she could do about it.  Someone’s arm came around her waist.  Ron.  Even now, she could recognize his touch.  He kept her upright, the only thing tying her to this world, pulling her mind back to him.

 

Hermione tried to ignore the phantom pains that shot through her chest.  She forced herself to grip the hand on her waist and straighten.  She was _not_ in the Department of Mysteries.  She was safe.  Ron was with her.  Thank God.  Thank God.

 

Through the haze she heard Mrs.  Weasley.  “What …?  You brought—”

 

Molly was cut off by Bill, who pulled her back and wrapped an arm around his mother’s chest, whispering something Hermione couldn’t hear in her ear, until Mrs. Weasley stood silent, her hand over her mouth.

 

Hermione looked back at the Death Eater on the floor.  The image of the silent menace faded.  He was anything but silent now.  He cackled contemptuously, blood staining his teeth.

 

Why _would_ they bring him here?  It made no sense.  If he were to escape, the Fidelis Charm would keep him from telling others about head quarters, but it wouldn’t keep _him_ out.  

 

“We tried to give him Varitaserum, but the prick bit me,” said a tall man who Hermione vaguely recognized from the party.  He had been a seventh-year Gryffindor when they were in their first year.  The bandage wrapped around his hand was soaked with blood.

 

“Broke the vial as well,” Charlie said off-handedly, holding his prisoner to the floor with a rough hand on his neck and muttering a spell that bound the Death Eater’s legs to the ground as he knelt.

 

“Well, I’ll have to get you some more,” Moody growled.  Though, he didn’t seem upset about Dolohov’s presence.  He, and everyone else, seemed almost resigned.  Something awful must be happening to make them desperate enough to bring a Death Eater here.  Hermione leaned more heavily against Ron, drawing security from his touch.

 

“I don’t know.  Clearly, he doesn’t like the taste of the stuff,” Adrianna said smoothly, circling the captive.  “I think we should give him a chance to just tell us, don’t you, Charlie?”  She abruptly grabbed the back of his neck with her hand, digging her nails into his skin.

 

“It _is_ the chivalrous thing to do,” Charlie agreed, moving to stand directly in front of Dolohov as Adrianna moved behind him.

 

The Death Eater laughed, even as he winced.  “You aren’t calling _that_ pain are you?”

 

This time Hermione winced as Adrianna kicked him forcefully in the back.  “No, not really.  Seeing as we’re the good guys.” She leaned down and whispered in his ear in frightening tone, “We’re gonna give you a chance to answer our questions first.   _Then_ we get creative.”  The light in her eyes when she met Charlie’s eyes was … Hermione was almost more afraid of _her_ in that moment.  Then Hermione looked at Dolohov.  Maybe not.

 

Charlie crouched down in front of Dolohov, his expression hard and calm, belying the silent tension that filled the room.  “Tell me about the attacks that are planned today,” he asked evenly.

    

Dolohov only laughed in response, but Adrianna had her eyes closed as her hand encircled the man’s neck.  When she opened them, she smiled slightly at Charlie and gave a small nod.

 

 _Ohhh_.  Hermione had to fight against saying it out loud, as realization dawned.  It was an act.  An interrogation, where they threaten, but are just disarming the captive while Charlie called the thoughts to the forefront of his mind and Adrianna read them.  It was a well-honed routine, one that had obviously been practiced dozens of times before.

 

“Who are you attacking?”  Charlie asked in the same cold, casual tone.

 

“ _You_ are the mighty Order of the Phoenix.  Pathetic.  We’re already won,” Dolohov sneered, sending shivers down Hermione’s spine.  Ron’s hand clenched against her belly.  “You do realize that nothing you could do to me would be worth the Dark Lord’s wrath.”

 

But Adrianna nodded again, and Charlie ignored the ravings.  “How many?  How many attacks will there be today?”  

 

“Do you know what he’d do to me if I told you?  What he is going to do to you _when_ he captures you?”  Dolohov’s expression was confident, chilling.

 

“Tell me the names of your fellow Death Eaters.  How many are there?”

 

“Or what _I’m_ going to do when I get free.  Do to your little bitch.”  He gestured his head back at Adrianna.

 

Charlie broke his hard expression with an amused smile.  He glanced up at Adrianna and back.  “What is your Lord after?”

 

The laughter faded from Dolohov’s face, replaced with rage.  “Maybe then I’ll start with the little girl.”  His icy gaze found Ginny.  Hermione found the presence of mind to put one restraining hand on Harry’s arm and one on Ron’s around her wrist.  Please, God, let them stay still.  Let the adults handle this, she willed.

 

“I’m sure I could have fun with her,” the Death Eater taunted.  His piercing glare shifted to Hermione.  “Or … didn’t I kill you?”  

 

Muscles tensed under her hands, breath hissed in Hermione’s ear as both her boys reacted to the reminder.  Ginny carefully moved in front of Harry to block his path.  Could Hermione stop Ron if he decided to charge?  Would it matter to Harry that Ginny was in his path if he decided to go after Dolohov?

 

Adrianna pulled Dolohov’s neck back.  “Evidently not.  She looks alive and well to me.  Perhaps you aren’t as scary as you think you are.  Or as powerful”

 

Without pause, Charlie cleanly followed Adrianna’s words, barking, “Tell us where your _Lord_ is.”  There was a stretch of silence as Charlie and Dolohov stared each other down.  Adrianna frowned at Charlie.  “ _Where_ is Voldemort?”

 

“You think you’re brave because you can say his name?  You are _nothing_.”

 

This time Adrianna just shook her head, frustration knitting her brow.  Charlie shifted his gaze to meet Adrianna’s fully.  There was a strange intensity about the eye contact.

 

When Charlie looked back to the Death Eater he asked, “Why _that_ book?”  

 

For the first time, a look of fear came over the captive’s face.  “How … not Legilimency …”

 

Then Hermione got a crazy idea, one that Ron would surely call mental.  Surely, Charlie hadn’t read _Adrianna’s_ mind.  Surely, they couldn’t be communicating.

 

Charlie ignored Dolohov’s question.  “Where is the cottage?   _Tell me_ about the cottage.”

 

A hissing breath left the captive.  In his most chilling tone yet, he spat, “I will cut her open.  I will flay her alive.  But not before I have _had_ her, ripped her open with my —”

 

Dolohov’s is head snapped back as Charlie backhanded him, his neck cracking from the blow.  For a moment Hermione thought him dead even as she quite hysterically tried to deduce which _her_ , he was referring to.  When the Death Eater lifted his head, he smiled, new blood dripping from his mouth.

 

“What’s at the cottage?”  Charlie spat out through clenched teeth.

 

“She’ll like it, your fucking whore —”

 

Oh.  So, Adrianna was _her_ then.

 

Charlie raised his hand again, but before he could strike Adrianna pulled back Dolohov’s head back roughly.  “We aren’t going to kill you.  No matter what you say,” she told him quietly.

 

“Filth.  Bitch —”

 

“That’s enough.”  Adrianna said wearily.  “ _Inconsciento_!”  She raised her wand, and Dolohov crumpled to the floor.

 

Adrianna jerked back her hands, as if burned, and the prisoner fell forward.  Her eyes locked on the fallen form as a visible shudder coursed through her body.  Charlie was next to her at once, whispering, “All right, there?”

 

She gave a small nod, “Quite a dark mind.  Not exactly a trip through the park.”  Adrianna did not pull away as she usually did when Charlie flattened his palm against her back.  In fact, she seemed to lean into him.

 

“Did you get the information?”  Kingsley asked.  Hermione hadn’t noticed him enter.  There were quite a few additional people in the foyer, actually.

 

Adrianna nodded again.  “I got enough.”  Then added in a whisper, “I hope.”

 

“The rest of the Order is waiting downstairs,” Kingsley said solemnly.  “He won’t wake?”  Adrianna shook her head and Kingsley nodded, gesturing toward the stairs.  Bill led his mother down first and the others followed in an automatic manner.  

 

Soon all that was left were the four teenagers.  And the fallen Death Eater in the hallway.  Left and forgotten.

 

Hermione focused on regulating her breathing, and did her best to pull her thoughts together.  This heavy, overwhelmed feeling she had was no good.  She needed to fight it and be logical.  There was going to be some sort of attack.  They should probably try to go downstairs, _if_ the adults would let them.  Though, they seemed to be mostly forgotten so far—

 

She mightn’t of have noticed Ron’s sudden movement if it weren’t for the fact that it threw her off balance.  He pushed around her forcefully making her fall against the wall.  Panic rose as Hermione reached for him, stumbling part of the way down the steps, and catching the back of his shirt at the foot of the staircase.

 

Ron turned and fixed her with his piercing blue glare.  Ice and determination.  Her stomach clenched.  He yanked out of her hold, and approached Dolohov.  Hermione could only cry out, wordlessly, as she watched the boy— _man_ she loved lift her would-be-murderer off the floor by his torn and bloody collar.

 

Hermione wanted to go to him, wanted to pull Ron back, but her feet seemed glued to the floor.  Didn’t that only happen in dreams?  With great effort she forced herself to form words, “Ron!  What are you doing?”

 

Ron stood carefully, his fists tight in the limp man’s shirt.  He held him off the ground, their faces disgustingly close.  Ron’s eyes never waved from the Death Eater’s face.  He said in the same cold tone his brother had used earlier, “I’m making sure he doesn’t hurt you … or Ginny ever again.”

 

A sound like a sob tore from Hermione’s throat, and she could feel her mind start to whirl.  She didn’t know what to do.  She knew she _had_ to make him stop.  She couldn’t let Ron do this to himself, do something he’d regret.  But she couldn’t find the strength to even breathe.  Desperately, she looked for Harry.

 

He stood stonily just behind her, his eyes trained on Ron with a look of resolve.  It was the look of a man who wants to attack, but knows that his best friend has rights that precede his own.  Harry was playing Ron’s second.  

 

That thought, itself, terrified Hermione.  Had everyone gone insane?  “Harry,” she pleaded, willing him to meet her eyes.  Slowly, his head turned, and he looked at her, his face raw with anger and pain and determination.

 

“Help me,” she pleaded with Harry.  Though, Hermione wasn’t sure what she was asking for.

 

Harry must have understood though, because she felt his arms surround her as her knees gave out.  Hermione doubled over with the force of her grief and humiliation.  She sobbed as she lost total of control of her body.

 

Harry sheltered her as he gently eased her to the ground, his arms firmly around her.  She turned and sobbed into his shirt.  Long moments passed before Hermione could look up.  

 

Ron hadn’t moved.  He still held his enemy in the air.  Was anyone going to stop him?

  
  


 

* * * * *

  


 

 

Harry’s first sight of Dolohov filled him with more fury than he had ever felt in his life.  And _that_ was saying something.  The desire to hex the Death Eater, or more accurately shove his fist into his face until it bled, was nearly overwhelming.  

 

It took every ounce of strength Harry had not to move, and a bit of strength gleaned from Ginny’s hand on his arm, as well.  He did his best to keep his eyes trained on his cousin and not the Death Eater.  The phrase “let them do their work,” a litany in his head as he watched Charlie and Adrianna.  

 

And they did their work well.  A careful dance.  A dance of ex-lovers, who also happened to be Aurors.  Any doubt in Harry’s mind about Charlie’s true profession dissipated in that moment.

 

Part of his mind was able to stay focused on the conversation, but another endured flashes.  Hermione as she gasped and fell to the floor.  Dolohov removing his mask, mouthing that Harry would be next.  The Death Eater dueling with Sirius.   _Sirius_.  The memories stole his breath.

 

Then they were all leaving the foyer.  The Order, Adrianna, filing down the stairs, and Harry wasn’t sure how they got to that point.  What had happened?  Somehow, he and his friends were left alone with the fallen Death Eater, and he had the crazy thought, the thought that they had been given a gift.  Dolohov, to dispose of.

 

Apparently, Ron had the same thought.  Harry watched Ron charge the unconscious captive.  He watched Hermione try to stop him.  Harry had to turn his eyes away from her.  It was too painful.  He kept seeing her fall to the ground with a flash of purple light, over and over.  He took the steps down slowly, Ginny’s hand falling from his arm limply.

 

Ron picked up Dolohov by the collar, clutching him with all the rage that Harry, himself, felt.  And Harry felt envious.   _He_ wanted to hurt this man.  But he stood still, because he knew it was Ron’s _right_.  Ron was his best friend, more than that, and it was his _right_ to have a go at Dolohov first.  Because Hermione was his.

 

Hermione called out, “Ron, what are you doing?”

 

Ron gritted his teeth and replied, “I’m making sure he doesn’t hurt you, or Ginny, again.”

 

Harry waited.  Waited to see if Ron needed any assistance with that.  He really hoped that he would.  He gritted his teeth at the sound of Hermione’s sob.  He couldn’t bear it.  Hermione should _never_ sob.  She should never be given the reason to.

 

He knew she was worried that Ron might kill the prick, but Harry knew Ron didn’t have it in him to kill an unconscious man, even if he _did_ deserve it.  A story replayed itself in Harry’s mind.  The one Adrianna had told him so many months ago about the wizard in Prague.  The wizard she hadn’t killed, who eventually massacred a village.  If Dolohov lived, how many people would he massacre?

 

“Harry,” Hermione called, and as much as he wanted to, he couldn’t ignore her plea.  He met her eyes and had to struggle to keep them open as the image of her falling came again.  He had thought she was _dead_.  Harry couldn’t have stood it.  Sirius was bad enough, H=he couldn’t have borne it if Hermione had died.

 

“Help me,” she implored, and Harry didn’t know what Hermione wanted, but he wasn’t sure she’d ever asked him quite _that_ question before.  He wanted to help her.

 

Harry watched Hermione crumple like a horrible nightmare coming to life and instinctively reached out to catch her the way he hadn’t been able to do at the Department of Mysteries.  She doubled over with her sobs, her knees buckling.  

 

Wrapping his arms around her from behind Harry tried to keep Hermione from falling, but she was leaning into gravity.  He eased them both to their knees as carefully as he could.  He felt as though he needed to hold her together or she’d fall apart.  What did it say about their lives that it could make the strongest people Harry knew go to pieces?

 

Ron hadn’t moved and Harry began to worry.  He couldn’t hold Dolohov like that forever.  What was he planning?  Maybe he should say something.  For Hermione’s sake.

 

_“Expelliarmus!”_

 

The Death Eater flew out of Ron’s grasp.  Harry’s head jerked around to source of the spell.  He found Ginny, breathing heavily, arm still extended, tears falling down her cheeks.

 

“God damn it, Ginny!”  Ron cursed.

 

“Well, I’m _not_ going to let you kill him,” Ginny yelled back.

 

Ron ignored her, whipping his wand out of his pocket and clutching it tightly as he started toward the man who had been thrown like a rag doll across the room.

 

Ginny ran.  She skidded to a halt in front of her brother before he was able to reach Dolohov.  “I won’t let you.”

 

“Ginny, get out of my way,” Ron hissed through clenched teeth.

 

“Please, Ron,” Hermione implored, between sobs.  Ron winced at the sound.  Harry rubbed her back and she turned slightly to lay her head on his chest.  “Please,” she whispered to no one in particular.

 

 _Crack_.  Harry’s breath caught as Dumbledore appeared in the foyer.

 

The Headmaster took in the tableau without a flicker of surprise.  He majestically surveyed the scene, walking over and standing over Dolohov.  “I see you’re watching over our friend here.  Would you like me to take care of him?”  he asked.

 

Ginny backed away from Ron and opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out.  Hermione’s sobbing had stilled, and she now had her eyes tightly closed.  She let out a moan of embarrassment and Harry cradled her head.  He imagined she must be mortified to have Dumbledore see her like this.  She prided herself on her cool head.

 

Ron’s eyes flickered to Hermione, then back to Dolohov.  “No.  Thank you, Professor.  We have it under control.”  Then before anyone could protest, Ron called out, _“Incarcerous!”_

 

Harry let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding as the Death Eater was encased in ropes.

 

“Just in case,” Ron said casually, dropping his arm.  

 

“Very wise,” Dumbledore said.  He looked like he was going to say more when Tonks appeared at the bottom of the stairs.

 

Tonks seemed to be caught off guard by the sight in front of her and tripped on the top stair.  Straightening immediately, she acknowledged Dumbledore warily, “Hello, Professor.”  She surveyed the scene with an Auror’s eye before carefully stating, “Harry, your cousin says she needs all of you in the kitchen.”

 

Adrianna said she needed him.  Harry didn’t have room for the myriad of emotions that triggered.

 

He nodded.  Harry looked down at Hermione who was still limp on his chest and up at Ron who was looking at her as if his heart was broken.  Carefully, Harry stood, helping Hermione to her feet with his hands cupping her elbows.  He wrapped an arm around her shoulders protectively.  Her head lolled against him, and he tried to catch Ron’s eye.  

 

“Ginny and I will go, Hermione and Ron need a minute,” Harry said with more command than he felt.  He was relieved when Dumbledore nodded indulgently.  Harry gestured Ron over with a jerk of his head.  

 

His friend hesitated, and then approached quickly, slipping his arm around Hermione’s waist from the other side.  As Harry’s arm fell from her shoulder, he felt a sense of loss.  His eyes met Ron’s, and Harry felt as though he was giving something away.  He didn’t know what possessed him, but he gave into the impulse and pressed his lips against Hermione’s temple before pulling away.  She was Ron’s now.  He’d take care of her.  

 

Harry tightened his jaw and held out his hand to Ginny.  She looked around vigilantly, her shoulders tense, before she stretched out her arm and placed her hand firmly in his.  It seemed the physical boundaries between them all were dissipating.  

 

Harry led Ginny down the stairs, trying not to think too hard about what had just happened and what was going to happen, and how everything had changed so much.  Now, he was needed.  Now, it was time to put everything aside and focus on the greater good.  That’s what heroes did, right?  Fuck, he hated being a bloody hero.

 

The noise at the bottom of the stairs was deafening.  Harry couldn’t believe they hadn’t heard it from above.  The kitchen was full of witches and wizards.  There must have been eighty people there, every member of the Order Harry had ever met and more.  He hadn’t realized that the Order of the Phoenix had grown so large.

 

The kitchen was a cacophony of impassioned arguments and nervous discussions.  Dumbledore quickly joined Remus, Mr. Weasley, and Mad-Eye in a corner.  Harry’s eyes followed him and found, nearby, Adrianna and Charlie leaning over a pile of maps with Kingsley.

 

Adrianna looked up, calling, “Harry, come here.”  Her posture and tone were tense and commanding.  Harry pulled Ginny over to their side of the table.  He pulled out a kitchen chair and pushed Ginny into it.  She was too distracted to resist.  He stood behind her with a firm grip on her chair.

 

“Ron and Her …?”  Adrianna began to ask, then met Harry’s eyes and just nodded, looking back at the table.  She grabbed a piece of parchment and a quill, sliding it in front of Ginny.  “I need a list of all the Muggle-born at your school.  Start with the kids any of you are close to, and work out from there.”

 

New fear ate at Harry’s insides.  If Adrianna was asking them to list people close to … this was because of _him_.  The Death Eaters were targeting the people that would cause _Harry_ the most pain.  His eyes met his cousin’s.  She didn’t correct his thoughts.  Instead, she swallowed and looked back down at the maps.  It was the surest confirmation he could have.  Harry gripped Ginny’s chair harder.

 

Ginny picked up the quill, nodding to herself and gnawing on her lip.  Her hand was shaking as she started to list the names.  Dean Thomas.  Colin Creevey.  Harry realized that this would affect Ginny even more than Harry.   _His_ closest friends were all secluded within these walls.

 

He looked up when he noticed Mrs. Weasley had approached.  She quietly hissed, in Adrianna’s ear, “This place isn’t fit for children —”

 

Immediately Charlie stepped forward, pulling Adrianna back from his mother.  “There’s no sense sheltering them,” he defended.

 

Mrs. Weasley’s face held a panicked, desperate look that made Harry ache for her.  “They are my children —”

 

“Look,” Adrianna snapped tiredly, then moderated her tone.  “If they weren’t with us, helping, they’d come up with some stupid plan of their own to find out what was going on.  Or to fight themselves.  Then they would _really_ be in danger.  Do you honestly think they aren’t better off here where we can an eye on them?  Do you honestly feel keeping them in the dark could possibly protect them?  They need weapons.  Knowledge is a weapon.  We can’t deprive them of information.”

 

Adrianna was panting as she finished her speech.  She turned to the table and leaned heavily on it, squeezing her eyes shut as if she were in pain.  She’d said that she couldn’t handle the hostility in this room and now she didn’t have a choice.  Harry wanted to embrace her, but couldn’t seem to move.

 

“Molly,” Dumbledore said calmly, placing a hand on her shoulder.  “Perhaps our well-intentioned attempts at protecting their childhood have passed their time.  It may be time to try another tactic.”

 

Adrianna’s eyes snapped to the Headmaster’s.  Harry looked between them carefully, the new and the old influences in his life converging.  Suddenly it was surreal.  He felt torn.  He was on Adrianna’s side.  He wanted to be a part of the fight, but it was overwhelming.  For a moment, Harry wished Mrs. Weasley would just tuck him away and protect him.  

 

“ _Adrianna_ ,” Mrs.  Weasley said, almost pleadingly.

 

Harry’s cousin seemed to wilt a bit.  “Harry, Ginny,” Adrianna said rigidly.  “You two are to stay in sight at all times.  That goes for Ron and Hermione as well and I’m holding _you_ responsible.  You do _nothing_ without telling me first.  You want to be included?  You want to be a part of the team?  That means you follow the leaders and do not do _anything_ on your own.  We clear?”

 

Harry nodded, his hand finding Ginny’s shoulder.  “Crystal.”

 

“Yes,” Ginny whispered.

 

Adrianna looked back to Mrs. Weasley, who swallowed, nodded and looked away.  There seemed to be tears in her eyes.  Harry couldn’t believe this was happening.  Not any of it.

 

Tonks pushed her way over, yelling over the noise, “The crowd is getting rowdy.”

 

“We’re running out of time,” Charlie muttered with frustration.  “Everyone, quiet!”  he bellowed, and there was momentary silence as everyone turned to stare at the group around the maps.  “You need to hear what we found out.”  

 

The clear implication was that it was Adrianna’s turn to speak.  Harry held his breath as she stiffened and he remembered her words about the Order not trusting her earlier that day.

 

There was a low rumble of chatter and someone yelled out, “Who the hell is she?  Why should we trust her?”

 

Adrianna crossed her arms as she threw an I-told-you-so expression at Bill.

 

“Yes, are we to base our entire operation on the word of a dragon tamer and an American stranger?”  This time Harry recognized the sneer.  It came from Snape.  Harry growled low in his throat and struggled to stay still.

 

Kingsley stepped to the front, holding himself straight, and calling in clear tone, “I can vouch for their credentials as _both_ Dark wizard hunters _and_ friends of Britain.”  There was silence as everyone struggled to read between the lines.  

 

Harry sneaked a look at Ginny.  Kingsley had all but admitted that Charlie was an Auror.  But Ginny’s eyes were on the parchment in front of her, so instead Harry’s eyes found Mrs. Weasley, who held herself so stiff she looked as though she would shatter.  Harry wondered what it was that made Charlie keep his true profession a secret for so long.

 

The silence didn’t last long before the room erupted again.  Harry could only make out random snippets, some defending Adrianna and Charlie, and others speaking out against them.  Adrianna’s expression became more pained with each passing second.

 

“Silence!”  Dumbledore commanded in a calm roar that only he could accomplish.  “Ms.  Potter _will_ speak.  I have the utmost faith in her abilities _and_ her decisions.  I suggest you do the same.”

 

The resulting quiet was frighteningly tense, punctuated by the fact that Dumbledore’s speech seemed to have left Adrianna uncharacteristically flustered.  She seemed to be attempting to calm herself with deep breaths as her hands nervously flew over the papers on the table.  Charlie pressed a hand firmly on the small of her back and stepped closer.  She took a deep breath and straightened, coming back more to herself.

 

Finally, Adrianna spoke, firmly and loudly, “There will be a total of twenty-three attacks today.”  She paused as a collective gasp sounded.  No one would have imagined it would be that many.  

 

“There is no significance to the number,” she continued, answering someone’s unspoken question in a manner that was familiar to Harry, but must be startling to the group.  “It was determined only by the number of Death Eaters they found to lead the attacks.  They chose as many Muggle families who have children in Hogwarts as they could.”

 

A hissing sound alerted Harry for the first time to Professor McGonagall’s presence.  Remus leaned over the table, asking Adrianna quietly, “How many Death Eaters are we talking about?”

 

Adrianna swallowed and looked down.  “Five to six per attack, depending on the experience of the witch or wizard involved.”

 

The emotion in the room rose considerably as Harry scanned the room and did the math.  They were out numbered and everyone knew it.

 

Pressing on, Adrianna cleared her throat again.  “The purpose of the attacks, beyond the desire to spread terror and generally start genocide, is to mask two things—”

 

“Take Azkaban,” Tonks murmured, loud enough only for those near to hear.

 

Adrianna shook her head.  “Not this time, though that’s what they want us to think.  They’d like nothing better than for us to send numbers there.  No, one of the Muggle households is particularly important.  There is a book there that Voldemort desperately wants.  All the attacks are to be similar so that one doesn’t stand out.”

 

There was more chatter before her voice rose again.  “But the thing that Dolohov _really_ didn’t want us to know about was that there was to be a special mission later today.  He, along with two others, were to Apparate to a cottage.  Each knew of only one thing they were to retrieve.  Dolohov was _very_ afraid when he thought we’d discovered this.”

 

“Where is the cottage?”  Mr.  Weasley asked.

 

She shook her head.  “He didn’t know.”  There was a murmur of disbelief among the crowd and Adrianna interrupted, “He only had the image of the place so that he could Apparate there.”

 

“Well, how the hell are we supposed to get there?”  Bill burst out in a frustrated rage.

 

Adrianna’s eyes were on the table when she said, “I have the image now.”

 

“You can’t Apparate there.  We need you _here_ ,” Charlie burst in, turning her so they were face to face.

 

“We don’t have a choice,” Adrianna argued, her voice rising.  “I’ll help coordinate.  Then I’ll go—”

 

Adrianna tried to turn back to the table.  But Charlie brought his body impossibly close, forcing her to look into his face.  “There is no time, Anna.”

 

Stubbornly, she kept her face turned away from him.  “The Death Eaters aren’t going to the cottage until after the attacks.  We have at least an hour, maybe two—” She was interrupted by loud gasps.  There truly wasn’t any time.  Harry could feel the group’s desperation as keenly as he felt his own.

 

“We need to get there _before_ they do,” Charlie insisted.

 

Adrianna’s eyes snapped to his furiously.  “What do you suggest—?”  Comprehension of his unspoken plan dawned on her face and she shook her head.  “No, Charlie, just _n_ —”

 

But he pressed on.  “It’s the only way, Anna.  You have to Follow me.”

 

“I _can’t_ do that,” she snapped.

 

“We’ve done it a million—”

 

“ _This_ is different—”

 

“It’s not—”

 

“We do not have time for a bloody lover’s spat!”  Moody yelled out.  “What the fuck are you going on about?”

 

Harry saw Mrs.  Weasley frown at his language.  Charlie turned his attention from Adrianna to the group.  “We would use the Following Spell.”

 

“What?”  Mrs.  Weasley gasped, looking around desperately at the stunned faces.  “That doesn’t work—”

 

“It’s a bloody myth,” Moody burst out.

 

“Charlie,” Remus interjected calmly.  “That spell has not been known to work for generations.  Many have tried—”

 

“We’ve done it before,” Charlie cut in impatiently.  “Many, _many_ times.”

 

“Impossible!”  Moody argued.  “The ministry tried—”

 

“Not with an Empath, they didn’t,” Charlie bit out, sending everyone into silence.

 

“We’re wasting time,” Mr.  Weasley reminded everyone softly.

 

Dumbledore nodded.  “Perhaps …”  he addressed Charlie

 

Harry didn’t hear what Dumbledore had to say.  The conversation faded into a dull hum as he watched Adrianna’s eyes dart about, unseeing, her breath coming quickly, sweat on her brow.  She didn’t look well.  Harry was only sure of one thing.  This spell was _not_ a good idea.

 

Finally, Adrianna cut off Dumbledore, snapping, “Fine.”  She held up her hand, palm out.

 

In a moment of panic, Harry burst out, “Drana, maybe you shouldn’t …”

 

But Charlie reached over, pressed his palm against hers, and entwined their fingers.  They ignored the protests as they began to chant a practiced litany.  Their hands began to glow.

 

  
  
  


* * * * *

  


  


 

Ron barely heard Tonks as she appeared at the bottom of the stairs.  Adrenalin was still roaring in his ears as his body struggled to recover from the fit of blind rage that he had just thrown.  Encasing Dolohov in rope had done little to burn the energy that hummed in his veins.

 

“Ginny and I will go, Hermione and Ron need a minute,” Harry said, taking charge of the situation like the leader he was.  He gestured toward Hermione with a jerk of his head.  

 

The implication wasn’t difficult for Ron to decipher.  Harry wanted him to take care of her.  Did Harry really think he was capable of that?  He was a fuck-up.  Ron had just almost ruined his life by committing murder in a fit of blind rage.  Didn’t that show that he didn’t deserve Hermione?  That he couldn’t _take care_ of anybody?

 

Yet, when he approached Harry and instinctively wrapped an arm around Hermione’s waist to keep her from falling, Ron thought he saw something in Harry’s eyes.  Almost like a blessing, almost as if Harry was giving Hermione to Ron.  It filled him with emotion and shame.  Didn’t Harry, of all people, realize that Hermione was too good for him?  Maybe Harry was just blinded by loyalty.

 

Then Ron saw the rage and pain in Harry’s eyes as well and remembered back to the conversation they had that night in Hogwarts.  The unspoken pact.  That was when he realized that Harry wanted to kill Dolohov himself.   _He_ wanted to be the one to attack.  He had held back to give Ron the opportunity.  Oh God, Harry knew how he felt about Hermione.  Who else knew?

 

Ron was too busy panicking to be jealous when Harry kissed Hermione’s forehead.  It didn’t matter.  Harry had made his position on Hermione clear in those few silent moments.

 

As Harry turned and held his hand out for Ginny, Ron felt their relationships move and solidify into new, frightening arrangements.  

 

Ron felt Hermione’s knees buckle just as their friend slipped from view.  He wrapped his other arm around her to keep her from falling.  Tonks went down the stairs last.  When her brightly colored head disappeared from view, Hermione turned to Ron fully and grabbed the front of his shirt, letting out a gut wrenching sob.

 

Ron closed his eyes tightly against the burning in his own eyes, determined today at least to _act_ like a man.  He pressed his cheek against the top of her head and wrapped his arms more fully around her.

 

Hermione didn’t let herself cry for long before taking a deep breath and pulling back.  She looked up at him and did the most unexpected thing.  She punched him in the chest.  It didn’t hurt, but still.

 

“Don’t you _dare_ scare me like that!”  Hermione admonished in a teary voice.

 

“Uh … sorry,” Ron stammered impotently, relaxing somewhat now that Hermione was behaving more like herself.

 

She swatted at him again before letting her forehead meet his collar bone.  Hermione muttered into his shirt, “I thought you were going to kill him.”

 

So did Ron.  What kind of man would that have made him?  Could he have ever have looked her in the eye again?  “Sorry.”

 

Hermione let out another sob and wrapped her arms tightly around Ron’s waist, crushing him with as much strength as her small frame would allow.

 

Ron rocked her the best he could, arms wrapped almost in two around her thin shoulders and head, sheltering her from the outside world in a symbol of what he wanted to do but could never fully accomplish.  His lips pressed firmly into the curls that slipped haphazardly from her previously neat ponytail.

 

His arms loosened as Hermione pulled back again.  He wondered if she’d start hitting him again.  That would be ok.  But she didn’t.  She wiped the tears from her eyes, and Ron wondered if he should be doing that.

 

Hermione sniffed, looking up at him with a small, self-deprecating smile.  “Sorry, I suppose I thought that I was over the whole Department of Mysteries thing.  Reckon not, huh?”  She blushed and looked away as she said it.

 

She looked so much like a child that Ron couldn’t help but press a kiss to tip of her nose.  “I’ll never be over it,” he said with a half smile.

 

Hermione tilted her head back to meet his eyes, her smile was sweetness itself.  “You really need to stop this being more sensitive and insightful than me thing.  It’s very unsettling.”

 

Ron chuckled, which was strange since what he really wanted to do was cry.  He was filled with a wealth of affection toward her, but didn’t how to let her know.  He’d kill for Hermione, obviously.  But somehow that didn’t even express it.  He had no idea what the words were that he was looking for.  So, what else was there to do in this situation but kiss her?  It was all he knew, really.

 

Ron cupped Hermione’s tear-soaked cheeks with as much tenderness as he could find within him.  Their lips met and his eyes closed.  He gave himself over, letting the slide of his lips prove to her how much he adored her.  With his tongue he showed her that she was his world.  He would do anything for her.  He hoped she understood.  Ron couldn’t live without her.  

 

It was _that_ precise moment.  That precise _thought_ that turned the kiss desperate.  Suddenly, they were biting and sucking and their teeth were clashing.  They couldn’t get close enough and Hermione was pulling on his hair in a wonderfully painful way, her nails piercing his scalp.  His fingers dug into the flesh of her back and he crushed her tender lips, but he couldn’t get close enough.

 

Hermione growled low in her throat, and it gave him the impetus to lift her.  Immediately, her legs encircled his waist, and he stumbled forward, crushing her against the foyer wall as their hands found their way under clothes and grasped at smooth flesh.  Ron was painfully aroused.

 

In some ways it was almost more painful to pull away, but Ron did, fixing his eyes on the ceiling because he couldn’t look at Hermione and not kiss her.  He took deep, ragged breaths.

 

“Ron,” Hermione gasped.  “We have to—”

 

“I know,” he said stepping back so that her feet could find the floor.  Ron’s head dropped to the wall above her shoulder.  He opened his eyes and looked to the side.  Dolohov was still crumpled on the floor, bound tightly.  His erection was instantaneously gone.  Looked as if he had finally found the cure.

 

“We need to go down-stairs,” Hermione said breathlessly as she struggled to straighten her clothes.  Ron twisted her shirt back into place and tried to push her hair back.  It was hopelessly disheveled.  He pulled out the rubber band and handed it to her.

 

Hermione smiled gratefully and pulled his shirt back into place and reached up on her tiptoes to smooth his hair.  When he met her eyes, they were wet with tears again.  Impulsively, Ron placed a soft kiss to her lips and took her hand in his.  Taking a deep breath, he led her to the stairs, deciding that he really didn’t care if anyone saw them holding hands.

 

It didn’t matter, though.  No one was looking at them.  In the kitchen, they found eighty plus people had their eyes trained on the argument going on at one corner of the table.  Ron weaved through the crowd, Hermione in tow, heading her toward the action.

 

Adrianna’s voice cut off all further arguments, “Fine.”  She and Charlie finally appeared in view as Ron came up behind Ginny and Harry.  His brother and Adrianna clasped hands and began a chant.

 

Ron gently guided Hermione to the chair next to Ginny.  Still holding her hand firmly, he whispered, “What’s going on?”  

 

Ginny’s head jerked to them, startled.  Harry looked like he hadn’t heard him at all.  Ginny’s eyes looked over the two new arrivals and she swallowed.  She whispered, “There’s some,” her voice broke, “Adrianna and Charlie are doing some spell that’s supposed to be impossible to do, so that Charlie can Apparate to some unknown cottage and steal some unknown object, before the Death Eaters …” she trailed off, her throat tight.

 

Ron nodded, looking up as the chanting continued.  He leaned closer to his sister, whispering,  “Is that what she read on Dol—”

 

Ginny nodded, her jaw clenched.  “Yes, but … but that’s just the beginning.  It doesn’t even begin to cover …” she broke off in a sob, both of her hands flying to her mouth to muffle the sound.

 

“Ginny,” Hermione whispered soothingly, reaching for Ginny’s arm with her free hand.  

 

His sister shook her head and closed her eyes tightly, turning her face away.  Ron recognized the grief as well as the shame of not being able to hold it together.  He crouched down behind her and wrapped his free arm around her chest and shoulders from behind, placing his chin on her shoulder.  It was the best semblance of an embrace he could manage at the moment.

 

Ginny leaned her head back into his shoulder and clutched his arm.  She only allowed herself a moment before she straightened, wiping her eyes angrily.  Ron stood.  The chanting had stopped.

 

Adrianna’s face was streaked with tears.  She dropped Charlie’s hand and stumbled a bit.  Harry caught her elbow.  “All right?”  he whispered.

 

She nodded and straightened, but grabbed onto Harry’s arm for support.  Her eyes were firmly on the table as she took deep breaths.  Adrianna’s eyes slipped closed.  “Do you see the cottage?”  she asked.

 

Charlie nodded.  “In the woods.  It looks like it was built into a tree and covered in moss.”

 

Harry’s eyes snapped back and found Ginny’s.  It was an odd reaction, Ron noticed, but he didn’t have time to contemplate it now.  

 

“That’s it,” Adrianna breathed, opening her eyes and looking at Charlie with a pleading look.  Their eyes met with an uncomfortable intensity.  “You aren’t going alone,” she insisted.  “Do you have—?”

 

“Of course,” Charlie said lightly as he pulled a medallion out of his belt.  He seemed more relaxed after the spell, even as Adrianna looked impossibly tense.

 

“I’ll go with him,” Bill called, stepping forward.  Ron thought he heard a muffled sob.  It sounded suspiciously like his mother.

 

Adrianna nodded and smiled gratefully at Bill, reaching over and squeezing his arm as he came to stand next to Charlie.  “Be careful.”

 

Their mother stepped forward.  “What are you—?”  

 

“We’ll be fine, Mum,” Charlie said with a casual jaunty smile and winked.  Adrianna gave a huff of a teary laugh and Charlie bent over to kiss her forehead, before holding out his hand with the medallion.  Bill placed his hand over the metal and Charlie lifted his wand.   _Crack_.  

 

Adrianna stumbled back from where they had stood together.  Harry steadied her as the room erupted in excited chatter.  Ron saw his mother turn and bury her face in his father’s chest.  Tonks pushed over and took Adrianna’s other arm.  Tonks and Harry led her to a chair.  Fresh tears poured down her face.  

 

“All right, ‘Drana?”  Harry whispered anxiously, coming down to his knees beside her.

 

She nodded, in wholly unconvincing way, making no move to dry her tears.  “It’s just … an intense spell is all.”

 

“What does it do?”  Hermione asked with fascination, her curiosity so momentous that it sometimes overwhelmed her good sense, like it did now.

 

“It, uh,” Adrianna cleared her throat, “it’s a kind of joining spell.  Sort of like my usual powers but times a hundred and going in the other direction to some degree.  It only lasts twenty-four hours.  It’s confusing.”  She rubbed her forehead.  “I’m sorry, we don’t have time now for me to explain more.”  

 

“Does it hurt?”  Ginny asked in a small voice.

 

Adrianna shook her head and smiled reassuringly at Ginny.  “No.  No, it’s just a bit much.  I … give me a minute.”  She closed her eyes, whispering to herself.  Then she nodded and let out a sigh of relief.  She looked over to Mrs. Weasley.  “They’re safe.  They’re there and they’re safe.”

 

Molly nodded gratefully and wiped her eyes.

 

Adrianna tried to smile at the worried faces around her.  “I’m fine.  Everyone’s fine,” she reassured.  “I just need a moment to get myself together.”

 

“Do you need anything?”  Tonks asked softly.

 

Adrianna shook her head again, and squeezed the other woman’s hand.  “I’m fine.  We’ve done this a million times, just like Charlie said.  We just haven’t since …”

 

Since what?  Ron looked around.  The others seemed to understand.  “Since the break up,” Hermione supplied.  Oh, that.

 

Adrianna nodded.  “Yeah.”

 

There was the soft sound of a throat clearing above them and they all looked up.  “My dear,” Dumbledore said kindly.  “We need to move on.”

 

Adrianna took a deep breath, nodding.  “I’m ready.”

 

Key members of the Order closed in around them.  Dumbledore, Remus, Moody, Kingsley, McGonagall, Ron’s parents, making a tight circle.  It felt strange to Ron that they were trapped on the _inside_.

 

“Where do we start?”  Kingsley asked.

 

“I have to figure out exactly who is getting attacked.”  Adrianna took another deep breath, spreading out a map on England and reaching over to take a list from in front of Ginny.  “I have pieces of the victims.  Dolohov knew some faces, a few names, but mostly places.”  She slid the list back over between Ginny and Hermione.  “I need you to put down where these children live and what they look like.”

 

The girls nodded seriously and McGonagall walked over behind them.  “Let’s look over this list, children.”  It was odd to have the Professor work _with_ them on something like this.

 

“We need to start somewhere,” Remus stated, looking at Adrianna.  “The student with the book that they wanted—”

 

“Yes,” Adrianna said, sitting up straighter.  “I know him.  I met him at Ron and Hermione’s party at Hogwarts.  His father owns a bookstore—”

 

Adrianna was cut off by Ginny’s loud gasp.  She reached over and grasped Ron’s arm painfully, asking, “Black boy, tall—?”

 

Softly, Adrianna said, “That’s him.”  Her face contorted as she realized what this meant to Ginny.

 

A sob escaped Ron’s sister’s throat.  “Dean.”

  
  
  


* * * * *

  
  


Author’s Note:

 

First, _Expelliarmus._ I know it is the disarming charm, most commonly used to knock a wand out of someone’s hand, but when I went to the books, the only two places that I could remember a person being thrown, the spell used was _Expelliarmus_.  First was in the duel in CoS and then again in the Shrieking Shack in PoA.  I look at the spell as something that just plain knocks something away, whether it be a wand or Dolohov out of Ron’s hands.  

 

Second, the _Fidelis Charm_.  As I already mentioned in the forum, my interpretation is that only the secret keeper (Dumbledore) can tell someone where Grimmauld Place is.  So, if Dolohov escaped he couldn't tell anyone, just like Kreacher couldn’t.  Also, if one hasn’t been told about it, one can't see it.  However, GP always exists in the same spot, it's just hidden.  I'm going so far to say that someone in on the secret can physically bring someone else into the house (which I feel is neither supported by nor goes against cannon), without Dumbledore telling him or her the secret.  Since Dolohov wasn’t _told_ , he couldn’t see GP from the outside.  Though given (in this universe, anyway) that one can Apparate anywhere they can visualize, Dolohov could return (by himself) if he escaped.  

 

Thank you, again, to everyone.

 

 


	33. Roles

Ginny didn’t understand how they did it, function through the terror.  Charlie, Adrianna, Bill, Mum, Dad, Remus … somehow they managed to make decisions and do complicated spells and _think_.  Ginny felt like she couldn’t even breathe and _they_ were planning a battle.

 

Even Harry was calm and collected.  He stood next to her, ready to protect her from whatever physical or emotional dangers might come, her knight in shinning armor.  He had been in situations like this before and not only functioned, but led, triumphed.  

 

And Ron was hugging her, giving her his strength, even though he had just faced down the man who tried to kill the girl he loved.  His strength was astonishing.  When had Ron become such a man?

 

They were only a year older than Ginny.   _She_ couldn’t even keep her hand steady to scribble down a few words.  Maybe that was why they were the heroes, where she was … what?  The damsel in distress?  The comic relief?  How Ginny fit in here?  And how could she think she was _enough_ for Harry Potter?

 

She wiped the tears away from her eyes, angry at herself.  Why was _she_ so weak?  She clutched her quill, focusing on at her list with new determination, but when Ginny looked down, the names swam before her.  Thank God Harry was here.  He, at least, was safe.  She didn’t have to worry about Voldemort targeting him or her family.  They were safe within these walls.  

 

Ginny reread the names on the list.  Dean Thomas.  Colin Creevey.  She had penned dozens of letters to these boys.  Had she been putting them in danger by doing so?  She didn’t want to know what this bloody list was for.

 

Katie Bell.  She was Muggle-born, wasn’t she?  Yes.  Yes, she was.  Who else?  In her year, there were so many.  Her roommates, Emma Drokhurst and Bridget Carey.  In Ravenclaw … she wrote down five more names.  It was odd that there were so many in her year.  It seemed disproportionate.  

 

Though, she shouldn’t be concentrating on people close to Ginny, but instead those close to Harry.  After all, who was _she_?  Why would Voldemort care about _her_ friends?

 

Who in Harry’s class was Muggle-born?  Besides Dean and Hermione, that is.  Who was that odd looking Hufflepuff boy?  Think, think, think … argh, why was she so incompetent?  What the fuck was his name?  He could die because Ginny couldn’t remember his name.

 

Oh God, oh God, oh God.  Ginny had to think.  She needed to remember the bloody names.  Adrianna and Charlie were chanting, doing something important.  It was so bloody _distracting_.  She couldn’t think of a single name!  She couldn’t … Justin Finch-Finchy, that was his name.  Or was in Finch-Flenchy.  No, definitely Finch-Finchy.  That’s right.  Thank heavens.  

 

She scribbled down the name along with two more that popped into her head.  Names flashed in and out of her head at lightning speed and Ginny mentally categorized them by their birth.  Hannah Abbot.  She couldn’t remember if she was Muggle-born or half.  Wasn’t her father a …?  She’d better write her name down just in case.

 

Vaguely, Ginny noticed how oddly silent the room had gone.  She looked up to see the chanting had stopped.  Adrianna’s face was streaked with tears and she was clutching Harry’s arm to keep herself from falling.  “Do you see it?”  she asked.

 

Charlie nodded.  “In the woods.  The cottage looks like it was built into a tree and covered in moss.”

 

Ginny’s eyes widened and met Harry’s as his head snapped back to look at her.  All conversation faded out entirely and the room began to spin.  Ginny thought she might be sick.  Could the cottage in their dream really be the one that Voldemort was looking for?  Could they have prevented the attacks by telling about the dream?  Shite, what had they done?  

 

They had to tell.  Oh God, they needed to tell.  It could be important.  Yet, the lies were so deep now.  It was so complicated.  Ginny felt like she was suffocating.

 

Through the haze of mumbled voices, Ginny saw her brothers join hands.   _Crack_.  Oh God, they went to the cottage.  Bill and Charlie.  They were out there now.  Out of the safety of this house.  If anything happened to them, it would be her fault for not telling about the dreams sooner.  Her breath was coming quickly.  She had to focus or she might faint.

 

Adrianna stumbled and sat.  Ginny tried to concentrate on the explanations and the words of comfort, but all she could think was that this was _her_ fault.  She needed to tell.  She needed to say something.  

 

Ginny opened her mouth several times, but no words came out.  Adrianna’s pained, tear soaked expression was nothing short of terrifying.  “Does it hurt?”  Ginny asked, though it wasn’t what she was supposed to say.  She _should_ be confessing.  

 

“No.  No, it’s just intense,” Adrianna reassured, making Ginny feel worse.  “I … give me a minute.”  She began muttering to herself.  Communicating with Charlie.  Her brother who was now a target.  Ginny wished she could lock herself in the bathroom and puke her guts out.  

 

“They’re safe.  They’re there and they’re safe,” Adrianna said and the relief Ginny felt was so profound that she felt she might pass out.  She closed her eyes.  She needed to help, not sit here like a baby and panic.  

 

Slow breaths in and out.  Ginny wrenched her eyes open and forced herself to listen as Dumbledore directed the group to move back to the attacks.  Again, she thought she should mention the cottage and the dreams, but they were already planning a strategy to counteract the attacks on the Muggle-borns.  She shouldn’t distract them.  Right?

 

Adrianna slid the parchment back to her.  Ginny hadn’t realized she’d taken it.  “I need you to put down where these children live and what they look like,” Adrianna instructed and it seemed bizarre that anyone would think Ginny capable of something this important.  

 

Professor McGonagall came up behind her and offered to help.  The added strength of the adult behind her calmed Ginny, and she was able to pick up the quill again and start to write her friends’ addresses next to their names.  

 

She was concentrating on the task and only half listening to the conversation around her.  It took her a moment to realize that Adrianna was saying something important.”  I know him,” she said.  “I met him at Ron and Hermione’s party at Hogwarts.  His father owns a book store—”

 

Ginny felt her heart drop to her knees and couldn’t control the loud gasp that passed her lips.  She reached out and grasped the nearest arm, uncaring of whose it was.  She whispered, “Black boy, tall—”

 

Adrianna paused, looking at Ginny in a way that confirmed her suspicions before she spoke.  “That’s him.”  

 

Ginny’s insides were imploding, her vision was blurring.  “Dean,” she sobbed.  The quill she was holding snapped in two, but she barely noticed.

 

“Where does this boy live?”  Remus asked, leaning over and sliding the parchment away from her.

 

Dean.  Dean.  Dean.  The sweet boy who had kissed her and called her beautiful, whose lovely unanswered letters were in a pile at the bottom of her drawer.

 

Tonks picked up the parchment and ripped off the top, where Dean’s name and address was written.  “I’ll go find out if anyone has been there before, and gather a party that can Apparate there.”

 

Ginny should have written to him.  She was a horrible person for not writing to him.  What if Dean died before she had a chance to write to him?

 

“Molly,” Dumbledore addressed, “I’ll need something to turn into a Portkey.  They will need a way to get the family to a safe house.”

 

Ginny was the most awful of people.  She had cheated on Dean.  Well, not technically, since he wasn’t actually her boyfriend, and she and Harry hadn’t actually _done_ anything, but she _had_ cheated on him.  Sort of.  In her mind she had cheated.  She would have done something with Harry, she would have done _anything_ with Harry and now Dean was going to die and Ginny had betrayed him.

 

“Adrianna,” Hermione said in a soft, clear voice.  “I know what book they want.  I mean, Ginny and I do.”

 

Ginny was being punished for being so awful.  For being selfish and glad that Harry was here and out of danger and not caring enough about Dean, not worrying about him.  Now, he was going to die just so fate could punish her … what had Hermione said?

 

Adrianna stilled and turned to the curly haired girl.  “What?”

 

Hermione had a guilty look on her face and was wringing her hands.  What was _she_ feeling guilty about?  Crap, compared to Ginny’s sins, this was minor.  

 

“I think I know what book Voldemort is after,” Hermione said anxiously.  “Ginny and I ordered the Empath books from Dean.  Only one came in—”

 

“The one they took from your house,” Adrianna supplied in a soft voice, eyes darting back and forth, unseeing.

 

Hermione nodded.  “ _The Empath Massacre_ was on back order.  Oh God,” she burst out, anguished.  “It’s our fault Dean’s being targeted.  It’s all our fault.”  

 

“No, it’s not,” Adrianna whispered, automatically, distractedly.

 

But she was wrong.  Hermione was right.  It _was_ all their fault.  Well, all Ginny’s fault.  Every bit of Dean’s family being attacked was Ginny’s fault.  He’d been _so_ nice to her.

 

“If Voldemort wants those books, then what he really wants is Adrianna,” Harry said in a hard voice.  For the first time, Ginny realized that he was kneeling between her and Adrianna.  Everyone was talking rapidly, making her dizzy.  She couldn’t keep up.

 

“Not necessarily,” his cousin said in a distracted tone.  

 

“What else could it mean?”  Harry asked heatedly.  Adrianna just shook her head.  

 

“Maybe there is something in that book that could help us,” Kingsley broke in.

 

“Voldemort’s motivation, perhaps,” Remus continued.

 

Hermione began to stand.  “Adrianna has a copy upstairs—”

 

“There’s nothing in there,” the witch in question interrupted, still shaking her head.

 

“But we should look—” Hermione insisted.

 

“I know that book upside down,” Adrianna said, louder this time.  “There is _nothing_ there.”

 

“But, if you just Summon it down here, I could look—” Hermione frantically insisted.  Only Ron grabbing her kept her from going upstairs herself.

 

“I can’t Summon anything,” Adrianna snapped.  “I can’t do magic right now.”  Her eyes looked wild.  Crazy almost.  “My powers are stretched to the max, scattered, any attempt to do magic …”  she broke off shaking her head.

 

Further argument was stilled as Tonks returned.  Fred and George were behind her.  Shite, Ginny had thought her family safe.  How could she be so stupid?  Of course, they would want to join the fight.  Charlie and Bill were already out there.  But, Fred and George couldn’t be going after Dean … please, please, they had to send someone else.  They just had to.

 

“These three,” Tonks gestured behind her, to where Lee stood with the twins, “staked out the Thomas’ bookstore earlier this summer.  Checking up on Dean it seems.”  The Auror gave Ginny a small teasing smirk.  But the girl didn’t see what there was to smile about.  

 

“You two can’t go—” Molly burst out.

 

Angrily, Fred interrupted, “We’re full fledged members of the Order—”

 

“—alone.  You can’t go alone,” their mother finished, with more calm.  Though her bosom was heaving, betraying her fright.

 

“I’ve been on this street,” Tonks said evenly.  “It’s in my area of London.  I’ve walked the streets for the sole purpose of Apparating there if necessary.”

 

Molly shook her head, saying firmly, “It's still not enough.”

 

The twins began to protest, but Adrianna interrupted.  “She’s right.  There is bound to be at least six Death Eaters there.  Even with Dora, you don’t have enough experience among you.”

 

Kingsley took the parchment from Tonks, “I can—”

 

“We need you here,” Remus interrupted, lifting the paper out of his grip it.  “You need to coordinate the others.  I can get to a pub about two blocks away from here.  Mundungus has been there with me.  Dung!”  he called out and the unruly wizard stepped forward.  

 

“All right then,” Tonks said in full Auror mode.  “The four of us will Apparate to the alley next to the bookstore and stand guard outside while we wait for the others to arrive—”

 

“But—” Molly broke in, only to be further interrupted by Dumbledore.

 

“You will need this,” the Headmaster said calmly, handing George a fork.  “This Portkey will bring you all to a safe house in precisely seventy-three minutes.  This is the address.”  He handed around a piece of paper for the members of the party to read.  “Get the family there.  There will be a Floo in the safe house to bring the minor wounded here and the more severely injured to St. Mungo’s.”

 

“Oh God,” Molly chocked out and the words echoed through Ginny’s head as they Disapparated.  Oh God oh God oh God.  Four of her brothers were out there now.  And Dean.

 

Please, don’t let anyone die.  Don’t let anyone die.  Please.  Please.  Anyone, _except_ that poncy bastard Voldemort.

  
  


 

* * * * *

 

  
  


Hermione just knew that there was something important in those Empath texts.  She wasn’t sure what but … she ran through everything she knew in her head.  There must be something important buried deep in her mind.  There had to be.  She just needed to find it.  She _needed_ to help.

 

She wasn’t just that pathetic girl that fell apart upstairs.  She _could_ help.  Hermione had something valuable.  Brains and knowledge.  If only Adrianna would let her get the books.  Just because the older woman knew the texts better, didn’t mean anything.  Adrianna wasn’t thinking straight right now.  She could easily be missing something.

 

Hermione looked over the pained expression on the older woman’s face.  She was  distracted, trying to deal with everything going on around her.  A room full of raging emotions.  Dolohov’s stolen thoughts.  Her connection with Charlie …

 

Somehow, part of Adrianna was inside Charlie’s mind, hearing his thoughts from hundreds of kilometers away.  She was seeing what he saw, hearing what he heard, feeling … it must be so intimate.  Hermione wondered what it would be like to feel that close to Ron.  Heavens, she was jealous.  How pathetic was that?

 

Hermione looked up at Ron’s pale face as his second pair of brothers Disapparated to go into the fight.  She had no doubt that he wanted to go with them, to join the fight.  Stupid, stupid boys.  She looked over at Harry as he stood from his position kneeling next to Adrianna.  He was tense, coiled, like an animal ready to pounce.  Given the chance, they would leap into the fray.  And to their deaths.

 

But they were safe here, Hermione reassured herself.  No one was going to allow her boys to go into danger.  She thanked heavens for their youth, as it was the only thing keeping them with her now.  Hermione squeezed Ron’s hand, placing both of hers around his.  Fighting the urge to kiss it, she chanted to herself, thank God.  Thank God.  Thank God.  

 

“We should strategize while they work on the list,” Kingsley said, looking over to Moody and Mr. Weasley.  There were fewer and fewer people around them by the minute.  More and more friends and loved ones in danger.  

 

Moody nodded.  “I’ll gather some of the more experienced members so we can use them as group leaders.”  He walked away into the crowd.  It occurred to Hermione that the tight group of trusted adults that surrounded them was quickly dwindling, as Mr. Weasley and Kingsley finished their conversation and Mr. Weasley was dispatched as well.

 

Kingsley placed a hand on Adrianna’s shoulder.  “Drana, do you need anything?”

 

“What?”  Her head jerked up from where she seemed to be staring sightlessly at the parchment Ginny and Professor McGonagall were working on.  “Oh, no.  Sorry, I was … they are having trouble getting into the cottage,” she murmured, rubbing her head.  

 

Kingsley nodded slowly and started to walk away when Adrianna called, “Wait.”  Quickly she pulled over the parchment and circled Colin, Katie, and Emma’s names.  “Definitely these.  Harry can you duplicate …”

 

Harry nodded, swallowing, and leaned over to perform the spell that Adrianna can usually do so easily.  Hermione wondered why she found that so frightening.  “ _Duplisis_!” he whispered in a rough voice.

 

Adrianna grabbed the duplicate and held it out to the older Auror.  “Here and, oh, bring Ron with you.”

 

“What!”  Ron exclaimed in an unnaturally high voice.  Kingsley eyebrows raised and he looked at Adrianna with curiosity.  

 

“He’s a natural strategist,” she explained.  “He needs to learn.”  Then she turned back to the list, as if that was the end of the discussion.  Adrianna had ordered, now that’s how it was.  Hermione almost laughed.  Some things never changed.

 

“All right, then,” Kingsley said with a touch of amusement, gesturing Ron to follow him.

 

But Ron had a confused panicked look on his face.  He looked down at Hermione almost desperately.  There hands were still entwined.  “But I …” he sputtered.

 

Tears came to Hermione’s eyes.  Her Ron, the natural strategist.  He didn’t know.  Not an arrogant bone in his body, her Ron.  She was so proud, and so scared.  She wished no one had ever figured out the secret.  They’d take her brilliant boy away from her and put him in danger.

 

“Wait,” Hermione called out with sudden dread.  “It’s just to strategize, right?   _Here_ , not out _there_ —”

 

Kingsley smiled.  “Don’t worry, young lady, we won’t let him out of the kitchen.”

 

Hermione sighed with relief and nodded.  Ron smiled at her reassuringly, having quickly switched roles with her from the seeker of comfort to the giver, as was happening so often recently.  He was maturing so quickly.  Almost too quickly.

 

He squeezed her hand.  “I’ll be fine.”  Ron even gave her a cheeky smile as his fingers slipped from hers and he followed Kingsley across the room.

 

He was now the fifth Weasley to leave with a cheeky grin.  Thank God, he was only sixteen.  Thank heavens.  Hermione watched him walk away, feeling oddly bereft now that he wasn’t touching her.  It was as if his hand had been holding her together.  

 

“Molly, we’ll need to gather more objects.  Each party will need at least one Portkey,” the Headmaster was saying when Hermione was finally able to focus her attention back on the events unfolding around her.

 

Portkeys.  Couldn’t they be traced?  But of course, Dumbledore would know how to create an illegal untraceable Portkey.  If he couldn’t, who could?  Hermione felt a twinge of envy for the skill.  She wished that she knew how to create a Portkey, then she could—

 

“That’s good idea.  Hermione, go help Dumbledore,” Adrianna said without looking up from the paper that she was scratching at, circling, and crossing out names, writing things on the margins.

 

“What?”  Ginny asked looking up.

 

“What Hermione said—thought, I mean.  She should learn to make those Portkeys.”

 

“That’s illegal,” Molly said frowning, her hands full of utensils and pieces of assorted rubbish to be used in the project.

 

“Not if they don’t catch us,” Dumbledore whispered to Hermione, giving her a wink that almost made her giggle despite the circumstances.  Heavens, she was hysterical.  “Though, this _is_ complicated magic Miss Granger—”

 

“I can do it,” Hermione insisted automatically, then blushed as she realized that she had cut off the Headmaster.

 

Dumbledore just smiled.  “Well then, why don’t you gather some more rubbish and meet me by the counter.”  As he began to walk away, Professor Dumbledore looked back with a teasing warning in his eyes.  “I trust that you will not abuse this new power, Miss Ganger.”

 

Hermione nodded quickly, telling herself that as long as she used it to help Harry and the Cause, it wasn’t an abuse.  She stood to follow Mrs. Weasley over to the trash bin.  

     

“ _Ahhh_!”

 

Hermione turned back abruptly as she heard Adrianna cry out in pain.  Instinctively, she ran to her side as the older woman clutched at her upper arm and squeezed her eyes closed, her face twisted with pain.  Red blossomed from where she held her arm, blood seeping through her shirt and straining her fingers.  

 

“Bloody hell, ‘Drana,” Harry yelped, falling to his knees again with an audible bang.

 

“What happened?” Ginny asked in a panicked tone, as she reached over to peel Adrianna’s fingers off the wound.

 

“Nothing,” Adrianna answered lamely, her eyes still closed, fighting the hands pulling at her fingers.  

 

Finally, Ginny managed to pull her hand away and immediately Harry’s hands were tearing the sleeve of her shirt, baring her wounded arm.  A deep gash slit into the flesh.  Blood flow obscured the view of the morbid sight and Hermione was oddly grateful.  “It doesn’t look like nothing to me,” she whispered.

 

Ginny gasped, tearing her eyes away from the sight.  “Mum!” she yelled.

 

“What happened?”  Harry demanded, with more command in his voice than Ginny had.

   

Adrianna swallowed, tears leaking out of closed lids.  Through clenched teeth, she managed, “There was a Whomping Willow protecting the cottage.  Charlie—”

 

“Charlie got hurt,” Hermione interrupted with awe and fear.  The sudden understanding of the depth and scope of the spell Charlie and Adrianna had preformed took her breath away.  It was truly amazing.

 

“What about Charlie?”  Mrs.  Weasley asked as she scurried over.  “Did you … holy Merlin!  Adrianna, what happened?”

 

Adrianna just shook her head.  She was beginning to look very pale.  “Charlie got hurt, so …” Ginny supplied in a small voice.  Mrs.  Weasley’s eyes snapped to her youngest and back to Adrianna as she pushed Hermione and Harry out of the way.  Molly balled up her apron and pressed it to the wound.

 

“I’m fine,” Adrianna insisted in a small voice.

 

“You are no such thing, young lady,” Molly insisted.  “Ginny, get my healing kit.”  Her daughter scrambled away with a frantic speed.  Adrianna seemed to sway a bit and Harry grabbed on to her good shoulder to still her.  “Does Charlie have the same wound?”  Mrs. Weasley asked.

 

Adrianna nodded, slowly, seeming distracted.  Then she breathed a deep sigh and her eyes finally opened.  “They’re in the cottage.  They’re safe.  Safe …” she drifted off.

 

Molly pressed harder with the apron, worry clear on her face as it became soaked with blood.  “Ginny!”  she yelled.

 

Ginny skidded around several members of the Order, knocking into them uncaringly.  “Here,” she held a bag out to her mother.

 

“Dump it out on the table,” Mrs. Weasley instructed.  “I need the blue vial.”  

 

The girl followed her mother’s directions, hand trembling as it flew over the contents of the bag.  “This?” she held out a tube.

 

“That’s it,” Molly said, both of her hands were now pressing into the wound in attempt to still the flow of blood.  “Adrianna needs to drink about half of that.  It’s a Blood Restoring Potion.”

 

Ginny gulped and she held the bottle up to Adrianna’s lips, who obediently drank.  Coughing, Adrianna wiped her mouth with her free hand and looked over at Mrs.  Weasley.  “You know a lot about Healing,” she said matter-of-factly.

 

“Yes, well,” Molly said, pulling back the cloth, glancing up to meet the other women’s eyes briefly, “you know a lot about my son.”

 

Adrianna gave a short laugh, which turned into a wince as Mrs.  Weasley did a cleaning spell on the wound.  The sight of the deep, clean wound made Hermione’s stomach turn and she had to look away briefly.

 

She considered Mrs. Weasley’s and Adrianna’s conversation.  Would Ron’s mother treat her differently if she knew about Ron and Hermione?  What was she thinking?  Of course, she’d treat her differently.  Hermione was _sleeping_ with her sixteen year-old son and they weren’t even dating.  Mrs. Weasley would certainly lose all respect for her.

 

“Will this heal my son?”  Molly asked in a soft voice as she spread a salve on the wound and muttered a spell that held the gash closed.  Hermione watched in amazement as the wound sealed.  Mrs. Weasley was an incredible woman.  She’d hate for her to think badly of her.

 

Adrianna nodded.  “He says ‘thanks’ by the way.”

 

Molly gave a short puff of a laugh as she began wrapping her arm with a clean bandage.  “So, he knows what’s happening here, then?”

 

“Somewhat.”

 

Again, Hermione couldn’t help but imagine what it might be like to be so connected to Ron.  He’d see through her eyes.  She’d see through his.  What really goes on in his head?   _That_ was a scary thought.  What did he _really_ think about her?  

 

Molly swallowed as she repaired Adrianna’s shirt.  “Exactly, how deep does this connection go?”

 

Hermione looked up, intensely curious over the response, but all they received was, “Deep,” as Adrianna took a deep breath and pulled her sleeve over the bandage.  

 

“So.”  Molly’s eyes drifted down.  “If he were badly wounded, then …” Hermione’s breath caught as she deduced the implication.

 

“I would be, too.”  Adrianna finally looked over and met Mrs. Weasley’s eyes.  Tears appeared in Hermione’s own eyes.  “There’s nothing to worry about, Molly.  You see, nothing is going to happen to Charlie.  He won’t let himself be.  He’s never more careful than he is when he is under this spell.  He knows if he were to …” Her voice caught.

 

“Then you’d die as well,” Molly finished, as she placed a hand over Adrianna’s in the first time Hermione had ever seen them connect on any level.

 

Adrianna’s fear for Charlie radiated from her.  Hermione felt it acutely, almost as though _she_ were the Empath.  What it must be like for Adrianna to watch him walk into danger while she stayed behind?  

 

If Ron was going into battle, if Hermione could feel every scratch, to watch but not be able to intervene, if he were to die … she couldn’t help but think she’d be glad to die with him.

 

Hermione forced herself to look away and stand up.  She didn’t look back as she made her way over to Dumbledore.  She didn’t look at Ron either.  Somehow, she managed to keep from bursting into tears.

 

 _That_ is what it was like to love a Weasley, Hermione thought.  That is what it was like to love a hero.  In Adrianna, Hermione saw her future, and she didn’t know how she would bear it.  

  
  
  


* * * * *

 

  
  


Ron put on his best courageous Gryffindor face and even managed to send Hermione what he hoped was a flippant smile.  “I’ll be fine,” he reassured, squeezing her hand.

 

She smiled back at him and for a moment he felt competent and brave, like he could actually make a difference.  Then her fingers slipped away and Ron turned to walk with Kingsley.  Shite, what the fuck did he think he was doing?  What the hell was Adrianna thinking?  Natural strategist, his arse.

 

He followed Shacklebolt as he weaved through the crowd over to the corner of the room.  Mad-Eye was standing with about fifteen other members of the Order.  Anxious tension tightened Ron’s chest.  Maybe he should just shut up and listen.  Yes, that was definitely a good plan.

 

Mad-Eye looked up.  “What’s the kid doing here, Shacklebolt?”

 

Kingsley smiled a large, winning smile.  “I have it on very good authority that _the kid_ is a brilliant strategist.”

 

Brilliant?  ‘Drana didn’t say _brilliant_.  She said _natural_.  Not nearly the same thing.  Oh God, Ron was going to be sick.  

 

“Is that so?”  Mad-Eye muttered skeptically, his magical eye whirling, as he crossed his arms and stared him down.  It took everything Ron had not to slink away.  

 

“He has to learn somewhere, Alastor,” Kingsley replied lightly.

 

Moody grunted.  “Well then, watch and learn, _kid_.”  He turned and surveyed the other stern-looking members of the small group.  “Listen up, youngsters.  We have seventy-two members mission ready, and twenty-three attacks to cover—”

 

“Twenty-two,” Ron muttered, before he thought.  Then his eyes widened as he realized he had just contradicted Mad-Eye Moony.  Shite.

 

“What’s that?”  he growled.

 

“Twenty-two?” Ron repeated in a pathetically squeaky voice.  “Not counting Dean.”

 

Moody frowned deeply, then turned, dismissing him.  “There are twenty- _two_ attacks to cover and seventy-two of us.  That means we have only three members to most parties.”

 

A low murmur went around the group and Ron felt his trepidation grow.  It was suicide.  Three Order members to six Death Eaters in most cases.  He scanned the room.  Many of the witches and wizards here were only a few years out of school.  They weren’t Aurors.  They weren’t trained.  It was going to be a bloody massacre.  Literally.

 

“We’ll assign the twenty-two group leaders now.  They can gather their parties,” Kingsley said.

 

Moody nodded, “We have to be ready to move as soon as the list is complete.”

 

What?  That was the stupidest plan Ron had ever heard.  In a panic he turned to Kingsley and whispered, “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

 

“What’s that?  Speak up, Oh-Master-Strategist,” Mad-Eye said in a mocking tone that made Ron feel lower than a Brasttle slug.  

 

Fuck.  Ron cleared his throat.  “I don’t—”

 

“Speak up, I said.”

 

Frustrated, Ron all but yelled, “It's suicide.”  He winced.  Crap, now he was really in for it.  He should have run when he had the chance.

 

If possible, Mad-Eye actually looked meaner.  “And what do _you_ suggest?”

 

Ron took a deep breath.  He was starting to feel dizzy.  How the fuck was _he_ supposed to know?  But Moody’s arrogant smile made him burst out, “You need to send at least five or six people for each attack.”

 

Moody laughed, “And let the other victims—”

 

A plan was quickly forming in Ron’s head and he interrupted Moody without thought.  “Start sending people now, before the attacks start.  We have some addresses.  We get those families out before the Death Eaters arrive.  The Order members come back here when they’re done and we send them back out again.  By then the list should be complete.”  

 

When Ron was finished he was breathing hard.  He couldn’t believe that he had just said that.  To Mad-Eye Moody of all people.  “Mad” was part of his name for God’s sake.  The others were staring at him wide-eyed.  They must think him an arrogant little git.  But it _was_ a good plan.  Wasn’t it?

 

Kingsley turned to the group, without acknowledging him, and Ron he felt his stomach sink.  Humiliation was beginning to spread, accentuated by the telltale blush that warmed his cheeks.  Maybe he’d die of embarrassment, or at least pass out.   _Then_ , it would all mercifully end.

 

“Alright then,” Shacklebolt said.  “We save those we can.  Start with the names we have.  Send a reasonable number of people.”  He passed around the parchment.  “Pick an address that you can Apparate to and choose a team.  Take four if they are experienced, five if they are not.”

 

Ron stood dumbly.  What just happened?  They hadn’t just employed _his_ plan?  He must be missing something.  But then two witches and a wizard had claimed the addresses and were headed into the crowd.  No one even questioned the plan.  Well, _damn_.  

 

“What are you doing just standing there?”  Moody snapped.  “If this plan of yours is to work we need more addresses.  Go!”

 

He nodded mutely before scrambling back over to where McGonagall was bent over the maps with Adrianna, and Harry and Ginny busy scribbling names.  

 

Ron was out of breath when he returned with a new list.  Moody snatched the paper out of his hand and turned back to the group.  Standing there, Ron felt energy course through him.  He felt powerful.  He felt _useful_.

 

“Ron,” Kingsley said, gesturing him over with his head.  

 

He swallowed and walked over the edge of the crowd where the tall Auror put a hand on his shoulder.  “I’m going to need you to keep track of who goes to each address.  You’ll need to log in the family’s name and the Portkey used.  Come to think of it, I’ll put you in charge of handing those out, as well.  When the members come back, you’ll need to reassign the witches and wizards to new families.”

 

Ron didn’t think his eyes could get any wider.  He couldn’t do that!  He was going to hyperventilate.  Kingsley was joking, wasn’t he?  “What?  I can’t —”

 

“Yes, you _can_ ,” the Auror said firmly.  “I’m needed in the field.  We all are.  It’s obvious that you can handle this.  We need you, Ron.”

 

No, no, no, went through Ron’s head.  He certainly could _not_ do this.  It was too important.  He’d only fuck it up.  Surely, there was someone else.   _Anyone_.

 

“Ok,” Ron heard himself squeak.  Oh shite.

 

“Good.  Now let’s get you set up.”

 

  
  


* * * * *

 

 

  


Harry, Adrianna, and Professor McGonagall were the only people left in the kitchen.  It had been three or more hours since Dolohov showed up in the entranceway to Number Twelve Grimmauld Place.  The burning of the Dark of Mark on Snape’s forearm, summoning him to Voldemort, alerted them to the beginning of the attacks and small battles were now raging all over Britain.

 

Every available member of the Order was out there, some of them on their second or third mission, having successfully brought families to one of the three designated safe houses.  As time went on, it was taking the teams longer and longer to return.

 

Ginny was upstairs in the Ballroom with her mother, tending to the wounded that had already begun pouring in.  Harry had no idea how many had already been sent to St. Mungo’s.  

 

Ron had moved his operation into the dining room, where he had a color coded map on the wall and carefully arranged lists and piles that made Hermione beam with pride.  After she’d got over the shock, that is.  Now, she was helping him, handing out Portkeys, and carefully recording the times they were to go off and their destination.

 

As for the three down below, they were on their last set of names.  And it was driving Harry mad.

 

Just under two hundred students at Hogwarts, not counting the class that left in June or the one beginning in September.  They hoped, _hoped_ that those people were safe.  Forty-one Muggle-borns in all, from thirty-seven families.  Now, Harry and his cousin were staring at the last seven names.  Only three of them were going to be victims of attacks.  All they had to do was figure out which ones.  Easy as that.  No problem.

 

Harry read the list for the hundredth time.  He didn’t recognize a single name on it.  One would think, with a school as small as Hogwarts he’d have at least _heard_ of them.  If he only wasn’t so Goddamned self-centered, maybe he would have.

 

Harry groaned, pushing himself back and rubbing his hands roughly over his eyes.  He felt like pulling out his hair.

 

“Nothing?”  Adrianna asked quietly.

 

Of course, she knew the answer to that question, but Harry answered anyway.  “Not a bloody thing.”  He felt so useless.  He should be out on the front-line.   _That_ was his strength.  Harry had more experience than most of the witches and wizards out there.

 

“Get used to it, kid,” Adrianna responded in a teasing, but tired, voice.  Harry cracked a small smile.  She leaned her head back and rubbed the nape of her neck, her eyes slipping closed.

 

Harry swallowed, taking in her tense expression.  Adrianna wanted to be out there as well.  She wanted to be in that cottage.  “How are they doing?”  he asked softly.

 

Adrianna shrugged, her eyes remaining closed.  “They’ve torn the cottage apart.  Finally found the box Dolohov was after and a couple of interesting artifacts.  Of course, there’s no way to know which one, if any, are the other objects Voldemort wants.”

 

“No sign of any Death Eaters?” Harry asked and Adrianna just shook her head.

 

Footsteps on the stairs echoed in the now strangely silent room.  Hermione appeared at the bottom, breathless from hurrying.  “Ron needs more addresses,” she gasped.

 

Harry clenched his teeth and pressed his palms against his temples in frustration, pulling at his hair.  They were at a bloody standstill.  What the hell were they supposed to do now?  He read the ruddy list again, even though he knew it was useless.

 

“Here, Miss Granger, these are finished.”  McGonagall handed her the last of the whittled down names that she had just finished adding addresses to, and Hermione rushed back up the stairs.  That must be where the action was then.  And Harry was stuck staring at this wretched list.  If he never saw a bloody list again it would be too soon.

 

“Anything more?” the professor asked, coming up behind them.  Harry wanted to scream.

 

Adrianna shook her head.  “I don’t think we’re going to be able to.  At this point, we’re just guessing.”  Harry looked at her.  This wasn’t a game they wanted to be guessing at.

 

“We’ll just have to go to all of them,” Dumbledore said from the foot of the stairs.  Harry’s eyes jerked up, having not noticed his entrance.  Unlike Hermione, he didn’t pound on the stairs.  

 

The Headmaster glided over and picked up the offending list, handing it to Professor McGonagall, who began checking the addresses.  Dumbledore took a seat across from Adrianna.  His cousin took a deep breath and sat up straighter, meeting his intense gaze.  

 

“How are you feeling, Miss Potter?”  he asked in a kind tone that did nothing to relax Adrianna.

 

She shrugged.  “Fine.”

 

“And Mr. Weasley?”

 

“Fine.  Mostly,” Adrianna said carefully, crossing her arms.

 

Dumbledore sighed and sat back.  “Adrianna, I have to ask you about what you saw inside Dolohov’s head.  About Voldemort.”

 

Harry’s cousin rubbed her forehead again.  “I told you everything,” Adrianna said quietly.

 

“What about Voldemort’s location?”

 

Adrianna frowned, letting out a low sigh.  “Dolohov didn’t know.”

 

Dumbledore sat back, his face lined with concern.  “Are you sure?  Is there any way —”

 

“I’m sure,” Adrianna insisted.  Then she looked the old man over carefully.  “You’re worried he’s going to be at one of the attacks,” she said softly, making a shiver run up Harry’s spine.

 

Dumbledore nodded slowly.  “It isn’t like him to stay out of the … _fun,_ as it were.  He’s likely to over-see his more important missions.”

 

“You think he’ll go to the cottage.”  Adrianna’s voice betrayed her fear.  Harry found himself searching for her hand under the table and gripping it.

 

Dumbledore just tilted his head as if to say ‘it’s possible’.  “I wouldn’t want the Misters Weasley to be caught unprepared.  They are unlikely to be able to be successful if Voldemort, himself, is there.”  Adrianna looked away.  “You know of the Prophecy?”  Dumbledore asked quietly and she nodded.

 

The implication was clear to Harry.  If he was the only one who could kill Voldemort, then Charlie and Bill were lambs to the slaughter.  Fear radiated off Adrianna.  Fear for her lover—ex-lover—whatever.  Didn’t matter now, anyway.  Not to her.

 

“Adrianna,” Dumbledore reached over and touched her other hand.  “Is there any type of Empath Magic you can do that might help?”

 

She was shaking her head before he stopped speaking.  “There’s nothing.  Especially, with me Following Charlie like this.”

                                                

Dumbledore’s gaze turned to Harry and he felt dread well up inside him.  Oh God.  “Harry, did you learn Legilimency as well as Occlumency in Japan?”

 

He shook his head.  Not to say “no” to the question, but in attempt to convince himself this wasn’t actually being asked of him.  In fact, their Sensei believed that Legilimency couldn’t be blocked unless it was well understood, so Harry _had_ been taught it.  To some degree, anyway.  

 

He looked over to his cousin who was looking back at him with concern and fear and … hope.  “You can do this Harry.  If you feel up to it,” Adrianna added with a swallow.

 

Harry knew she was trying to give him an out.  She knew how hard it was for him to _feel_ Voldemort.  But Adrianna had felt Dolohov, hadn’t she?  For them.  Stood in a room full of distrust and fear, for the greater good.  Now, it was Harry’s turn.  He needed to do this for her.  For Charlie.

 

Harry met Adrianna’s eyes and nodded once, sharply, in acquiescence.  “What do you want me to do?”

 

Adrianna let out a breath Harry hadn’t realized she had been holding and turned fully toward him, taking both of his hands in hers.  “Just let down those walls we worked on.  One by one.  Then reach out.  Carefully.  We just want you to get a glimpse out of his eyes, to see where he is.  Then you can put the walls right back up.”

 

Gulping, Harry nodded.  He took two slow breaths and let his eyes close.  He knew he must be clutching Adrianna’s hands almost painfully.  He imagined his carefully constructed walls in his mind’s eye.  One by one he imagined them falling.  As they did, his heart rate quickened.  What if he couldn’t get them back up?

 

Then they were gone and there was nothing and Harry didn’t know what to do.  Should he reach out?  What the hell did that even mean?  He wasn’t sure how to do that.  He’d never done Legilimency on someone not in the room with him—

 

Cold consumed him.  Evil infused his blood.  He felt wet and clammy.  Hate.  So much hate.  Harry’s eyes opened and he wasn’t in the kitchen at Grimmauld Place.  He couldn’t hear Adrianna anymore.  He heard screams and the sounds of dueling and he felt _triumph_.

 

Bodies lie on the floor.  Books lined the walls.  Oh God, he was in Dean’s book shop.  A middle-aged black woman was at his feet.  The eyes he was looking through rose and Harry saw a flash of red hair.  Fred Weasley’s face came into view.  He felt his arm rising him, preparing to say the Death Curse.

 

 _Noooo_!  He screamed in his mind, trying to control the body he was in, trying to make it drop his wand.  “Ahhh!”  he screamed out in pain as Voldemort realized what he was doing.  His scar seared.  Harry felt the dark wizard fighting him, trying to reverse the connection and take Harry over.

 

Harry struggled to come back.  The walls, he needed the walls.  But they were in shambles.  Hastily, he tried to imagine them coming back, through the fear and the shame and the horrible cold hate that Voldemort was sending back to him.

 

“Harry!  Harry!”  

 

He began to hear his cousin’s voice in the distance and imagined running toward her.  Harry needed to warn them.  Fred and George and Dean … he wrenched his eyes open.  Concentrating all his effort, he gasped out, “Dean’s.”

 

Vaguely, he saw Dumbledore and McGonagall stand and Disapparate in a poof … but the blackness was overwhelming him.  He fought against the cold, trying to focus on the Adrianna’s voice.  

 

“Harry, come back to me now.   _Harry_!”

 

Her voice was almost frantic.  That couldn’t be good.  Oh God, he could hear hissing in his ears, feel cold tentacles in his brain.  Had to focus on the walls.  Had to get the walls up.  Oh God.  Help.  Somebody help.

  
  
  


* * * * *

  



	34. Come Back to Me

“No, no.  Just one drop.  This is strong stuff,” Ginny instructed as she crouched over a wizard just a bit older than Bill.  He had a partially healed gash on his flank that made her shudder.

 

He _should_ be at St. Mungo’s.  Most of the people scattered about the Ballroom turned infirmary should be at St. Mungo’s.  They should have real Healers, not her over-worked mother and _Ginny_ , of all people, to take care of them.

 

But if they all went to St. Mungo’s, they would flood the hospital and cause a panic.  The Order of the Phoenix was supposed to be a secret after all.  So, if someone could speak and, well, _breathe_ on their own, they came to Grimmauld Place instead.

 

Though one would have thought there was at least one trained Healer in the Order.  And where the hell was Madam Pomfrey?  There couldn’t be all that much to do in the Hogwarts infirmary with Harry and her brother on holiday.

 

At least caring for the wounded kept her mum's mind occupied, kept her from obsessing over her four sons and husband who were now in the midst of battle.   _And_ the fact that Fred and George’s Portkey had long since expired and they hadn’t a word from them.  Ginny told herself they were in the safe house, and when they finally came home she was going to hex them good for not letting Mum know they were all right.  Inconsiderate gits.

 

“Isn’t enough,” the patient before her whined as Ginny put the stopper back in the vial.  Seconds later, his eyes slipped shut and he let out a soft snore.  She chuckled and shook her head.  Then the litany of groans and calls for “Miss Ginny” started up again.

 

Ginny frowned, her hand going to her aching neck.  The calls never seemed to cease.  People wanting a drink, more pain potion, information … all yelling over the loud conversation coming from the dinning room where the latest returning party was debriefing from their mission and receiving their new orders.  From Ron.   _Ron_.  Had the world had truly gone insane?

 

Taking a deep breath, Ginny stood for the hundredth time, cursing the ache it caused in her thighs.  She made her way from person to person, saying, “Just one drop,” until she wanted to scream.  So, this was war then.  It _sucked_.

 

The noise fell to a more reasonable level, indicating that the group in the dining room had left on another mission.  A wizard calling for Ginny rose over the other cries.  She looked over to the archway to the foyer where a man gesturing wildly.  

 

Ginny suppressed an eye-roll and looked around.  Her mother was bent intently over a bleeding witch on the far side of the room, having not noticed at all.  Sighing with exhaustion, Ginny made her way to the impatient wizard.  What now?  Couldn’t anyone wait his or her turn?  

 

“Yes, Mr. Sands.  What can I do for you?” she asked as gently as she could manage.

 

“There’s someone calling for help from the kitchen,” he said in an alarmed voice.  

 

Or maybe the alarm came from the ringing in Ginny’s ears and the sudden way her heart rate increased.  She froze, listening.  Then she heard it.  Adrianna’s muffled, but frantic, voice screaming, “I need help down here.”

 

Ginny almost tripped over herself as she jumped to her feet, and hurried to the stairs.  Fear was choking her.  What could make Adrianna scream like _that_?  Vaguely, she heard Mr. Sands say, “Ginny, shouldn’t you get your mother.”

 

She ignored him as she stumbled down the steps, breathless.  Ginny skidded and almost fell at the foot of the stairs as she took in the sight before her.  Adrianna was kneeling over Harry, holding him by his shoulders.  He was limp and pale in her arms.

 

The scene faded in and out as Ginny struggled to stay conscious.  Panic and grief were threatening to consume her.  She couldn’t take much more.  She’d never survive this war.  She couldn’t survive this _day_.  She just wasn’t strong enough.  

 

Adrianna turned to look at Ginny and the panic she felt was mirrored on the other woman’s face.  Adrianna’s eyes were red and swollen.  It wasn’t until then that Ginny realized she wanted to cry, but a strange numbness was filling her, preventing the tears.

 

“Ginny!” Adrianna yelled louder and the girl realized that she had been calling her.  

 

Her feet finally moved and she stumbled and fell to her knees next to Harry.  Her hands fluttered above him.  Ginny was afraid to touch him.  What if his skin was cold?  What if he was—

 

“What’s going on up there?” Adrianna demanded.  “I’ve been calling … never mind.  I can’t wake him.  He’s not …” she drifted off, breathing heavy, looking around, as if she was trying to figure out what to do.  “My magic isn’t working.  Where’s your mother?”

 

“Upstairs,” Ginny whispered, mindlessly.  Her hand fell on Harry’s cheek.  He was warm.  Blessedly warm and _alive_.  Thank God.  Thank God.  “What happened?” she asked in a strange disassociated voice.  Harry was supposed to be safe here.  He was out of the fight.  How—?

 

“He went looking for Voldemort.”

 

“What!” Ginny’s eyes jerked up to look into Adrianna’s wild and guilt ridden expression.  “By himself?”  How had he even got out—

 

“With his mind.”

 

Oh God.  Oh God.  Ginny looked down at Harry, both hands now on his face.  “Why would he do that?  Why—?”

 

She let out a choked sob, as Adrianna confessed, “Because Dumbledore asked him to. Because _I_ asked him to.”  

 

Ginny fixed her with an accusatory glare as her arms automatically went around Harry’s shoulders and she lifted him onto her lap.  How could they?  The numbness was leaving and tears were beginning to fall.  

 

“Stay with him,” Adrianna said quietly, standing.  “I need to get more help.”

 

Ginny was barely paying attention.  She focused on the boy in her lap.  “Harry,” she whispered, running her hands over his face.  It was prickly.  When had he started to grow a beard?  He was starting to become a man.  What if he never had the chance to be one?  What if he never woke?  “Wake up, Harry.  Please.   _Please_.”

 

There was slight movement under her hands and a soft moan escaped Harry’s lips.  Ginny’s heart stopped.  She didn’t dare breathe.  His eyelids fluttered.

 

“Did that just come from, Harry?”  Adrianna asked and Ginny looked up to see that she was standing over her once more.  Ginny just nodded frantically, too hopeful to still be angry with her.  Adrianna fell to her knees next to them.  Her hand joined Ginny’s on his face and she let out a hysterical laugh of relief as Harry’s head moved under their fingers.  “Keep calling him,” Adrianna ordered.

 

“Harry, Harry,” Ginny called tearfully, desperately.  “Come back to me, Harry.”  It was a stupid thing to say.  But she meant it and it seemed to be working.  He seemed to be struggling to say something, but … he went still again.  “No!”  Ginny screamed before she could stop herself.

 

“Ginny, where’s your wand?”  She barely made out Adrianna’s voice, yet obeyed her just the same, pulling her wand from her pocket with trembling hands.  She was getting desperate.  Harry wasn’t coming back.  They’d lost him.  He’d gone away for good.  Her thoughts were becoming disjointed.  Ginny couldn’t breathe.

 

Adrianna grabbed her face, forcing her to look into the older woman’s shining, intense gaze.  “Ginny,” she said forcefully, “I need you to stay with me, here.   _Harry_ needs you.”

 

Ginny nodded.  Concentrating on her breathing.

 

“I need you to revive him,” Adrianna continued, taking Ginny’s hand, the wand clutched inside and guiding her movement.  “Concentrate for me.   _You_ need to call him.  Repeat after me.   _Vagis Casis!_ ”

 

Ginny was panting.  “ _Vaga Cashess!”_ Fuck.

 

_“Vagis Casis!”_

 

_“Vagis Casis!”_

 

Immediately, Harry’s body jerked and Ginny struggled to keep hold of him, her eyes widening in fright.  He sucked in a great gasping breath, his eyes snapping open.  Adrianna was laughing in relief next to her.  

 

“Ginny?”  Harry gasped and it was the most wonderful thing she had ever heard.  His arms flew up and clutched her shoulders roughly as he blinked and gained his breath.  “God, Ginny.”  

 

Then he surged up and was embracing her tightly and all Ginny could do was clutch him back, tears rolling down her cheeks, new bitter-sweet emotions overwhelming her.  Hope and longing and confusion.  Just as her feelings for Dean had come to the forefront.  Just as she was feeling most guilty, Harry was clutching her as if she was … as if he needed her.   _Her_.

 

Harry pulled back, as abruptly as he had grabbed her, his hands still on her shoulders, terror in his eyes.  “Dean!” he burst out and Ginny’s heart dropped, afraid he had read her mind.  Guilt overpowered her.  Now, she was feeling like she was betraying Harry by thinking about Dean.  Could her life get anymore fucked up?

 

“Dean and Fred …” Harry continued frantically, looking over to his cousin and reaching a hand out to her, terror plain on his face.  “Voldemort was at Dean’s.  He was going to kill Fred.  I saw it.”  

 

Shite.  Was it ever going to stop?  Ginny had no more room for fear.  She couldn’t stand it.

 

“It’s ok,” Adrianna said softly, taking his hand firmly.  “Dumbledore and McGonagall Apparated there right away.”  She quickly wiped away her tears with her free hand and pressed a kiss to his temple.  “It’s going to be ok.”  She said it as if she were soothing a child, _not_ as if she believed it.  She looked terrified, though she forced a smile and sat back away from them.

 

Ginny was shaking her head in denial.  “What?  Fred …” she broke off with a sob.  Harry wrapped an arm around her waist.  Sitting up and pulling her to his chest.  His free hand smoothed her hair as she squeezed her eyes tightly shut, trying to gain control of herself.

 

“How long have Dumbledore and McGonagall been gone?” Harry asked.

 

Adrianna shook her head, biting her lip.  “I don’t know.  Minutes.”  She looked up to the clock on the wall and Ginny’s eyes followed.  “Crap.  Twenty minutes.  Maybe longer.  Are you ok?” she asked gently, skimming her hand over Harry’s hair.  “How do you feel?”  

 

“Fine, I’m …” Harry muttered impatiently.  “My head hurts, is all—”

 

He was broken off by a blessed bang as Fred and Lee arrived in the center of the room, a wounded George suspended between them.  

 

“Fuck!  I never thought I’d be so glad to see this musty old kitchen,” George laughed, seemingly unaware of the fact that his thigh was twisted at an obscene angle and blood was soaking through his trousers.

 

“Heaven itself,” Fred agreed, helping Lee place his brother in one of the chairs.  

 

Ginny’s relief was just beginning to register when Fred turned abruptly.  With a huge smile on his face he reached down and pulled Harry out of her arms and to his feet, crushing him in a beefy hug.  Harry looked down at her in panic and Ginny had to wonder if this was all some sort of bizarre nightmare.

 

“This man saved my life,” Fred declared, setting Harry down so he stumbled backward and fell into a chair.  Fred had an excited grin on his face and Ginny wanted to smack him.  But instead she stood and hugged him fiercely.  He barely embraced her back he was so excited about beginning his story.

 

“Most brilliant thing I have ever seen,” Fred declared, with a sweeping hand motion.  “There was Voldemort, in all his creepy, scaly wretchedness.  He lifts his arm and I know I’m a dead man.  I can already hear 'A _vada Kedavra'_ ringing in my ears.  Then all at once, the slimy bastard stumbles.   _Stumbles_.  The arm holding his wand jerks wildly.  He struggles for control.  Then he screams out, ‘Potter! ’”

 

Fred acted out the scene just as he had at Ginny’s birthday party.  She couldn’t help but feel it was inappropriate.  This wasn’t an amusing anecdote.  Though, she was beginning to feel giddy with relief and pride.  For her Harry.  Was it only this morning that she thought he was just a boy?  He was so much more than that.

 

“That’s when I knew Harry was in his mind and he had just saved my life.”  Fred beamed at them, clapping Harry on the shoulder.  “Thanks, mate.”

 

Harry frowned, rubbing his shoulder where Fred had just hit him.  “You’re welcome,” he muttered.  He had a pained look on his face.  He certainly wasn’t feeling relieved yet.  Ginny stood and put a hand on his back.  He leaned slightly into her.

 

Adrianna moved in front of George.  “This leg looks awful.”

 

“Cruciatus Curse and a number of other things,” George panted with a cheeky grin, as if the fool were proud of his battle wound.

 

“Well, you’ll be lucky to keep your leg,” Adrianna admonished, though it seemed to Ginny she said it more to scare him.  The witch rushed to the staircase, yelling for their mother.  

 

After a few moments, Ginny looked over to see Adrianna tapping her toe, a look of furious frustration on her face.  “Oh, for the love of … just tell her one of her sons is badly hurt,” she snapped at the faceless person at the top of the stairs, before turning in dismissal.

 

Ginny’s mother was down the stairs before Adrianna could cross the room back to them.  She gasped at the sight of her sons.  “Merlin, where have you boys been?” Molly demanded, running over to George.  

 

George leaned back against the table, carelessly.  “Fighting Death Eaters, Mum.”

 

“Fighting Death Eaters,” Mrs. Weasley muttered, whacking him lightly on the head as she crouched next to him.  “And what happened to your Portkey!  You were supposed to be back over an hour ago.”  Then her breath hissed as she slit open his trousers and saw his twisted and swollen leg.

 

“Tonks took it,” Fred said flippantly.

 

“It was crazy, Mrs. Weasley,” Lee began before the twins could dig themselves in any deeper.  “The Death Eaters were already there when we arrived.  Six of them, vicious ones as well.  Both the Lestranges were there.  Tonks made us wait until Remus and Dung arrived.  The wait damn near killed us.”  He shook his head grimly.

 

“At least someone has some sense,” Molly muttered, working carefully on George, creating a magical splint.

 

“When we got in there,” Lee continued, “it was a mess.  A Muggle customer was dead on the floor, Dean’s mother barely breathing next to him.  We don’t even know what kind of curses she was hit with.”

 

“Tonks ran off with the three youngest children and the Portkey,” George said, gritting his teeth against the pain.  “They were torturing them, Mum.  There was nothing else she could do,” he said seriously.

 

Mrs.  Weasley swallowed, nodding and wiping her eyes swiftly, before yanking George’s leg straight with a quick charm, making him scream with pain.  “Here, take this,” she said soothingly, offering him a drop of pain potion.  

 

George shook his head.  “I’m fine,” he gritted.

 

“Idiots!  All of you!  Take it,” his mother insisted, and after a stubborn stare down, George opened his mouth for a drop.

 

“Then what happened?”  Harry prompted softly, his hand creeping up to circle Ginny’s waist.  He seemed to be holding his breath.

 

“Then we fought,” Fred stated simply.  “It was wicked.  Hexes flying.  Cruciatus Curses all over the place.  That Dean bloke, Ginny, we approve.”

 

Ginny blushed and tensed.  She felt Harry’s hand clench at her waist, but maybe she was imagining it.  “Why?” she asked softly.

 

“Fought well,” George slurred, struggling to keep his eyes open.

 

“Threw himself in front of a Cruciatus for his little brother,” Lee said with an approving nod.

 

“Not so bad with the hexes either,” Fred grinned.  “We’ve decided you can date him, Gin.”

 

Molly snorted, but didn’t look up and didn’t protest.  Ginny thought that odd.  But it was all odd.  Harry’s arm was around her waist for heaven’s sake.  Didn’t they notice?  Did they think it was brotherly?  Maybe it was.

 

 _Crack_.  Tonks Apparated in, looking disheveled and tired.  She ran a hand through her short hair as she looked around the room.  “Shite, George, what happened?”

 

“What do you think?” he slurred.

 

Tonks frowned.  “What’s happening?  Minerva Apparated to the safe house and told me to go back to Headquarters.  She didn’t tell me what was going on,” she spoke rapidly, not letting anyone answer her questions.  “Sorry, ‘bout leaving you, but there was no way to get the kids out of there until the Portkey activated.  All this magic and I’m stuck running down the streets of London with a bunch of kids.  So much for Auror training.  How’s Bill?”  Her eyes widened.  “And Charlie.  I mean …”

 

“They’re fine,” Adrianna assured with a slight smile.  “Still at the cottage.  Still no Death Eaters.”

 

“Good, good,” Tonks nodded.

 

“As we were saying,” Fred began with a knowing grin, “we were all dueling, the fight at a virtual standstill when Voldemort arrived.  I damn near sh …” he broke off looking at his mother who gave him a warning look.  “Anyway … he declared, ‘Kill them all.’ And _then_ all hell broke loose.”

 

“Remus killed a Death Eater just as he was about to _Avada Kedavra_ Lee,” George forced out, determined to stay awake for the tale.  “Cutting charm.  Hit his throat.”

 

“Then they blew up the bookcases,” Lee said softly.  “Hit Remus and Dung.  Knocked them both out.”

 

Molly took a sharp intake of breath.  “It was just you three with … with …”

 

“Yep,” Fred smiled.  “And if it weren’t for Harry here, we’d all be dead.”  Everyone’s eyes flew to Harry who blushed and shrunk under the scrutiny.

 

“I didn’t do anything,” Harry muttered modestly.  Ginny almost laughed, it was so ridiculous.  She squeezed his shoulder and he looked up at her.  They shared a soft smile.

 

“Oh you didn’t, huh?  Just took over Voldemort’s mind just as he was about to kill me.”

 

“Merlin,” Molly breathed.  “Is that true?”  She looked at Harry who shrugged, then past him to Adrianna who nodded.

 

“Then Dumbledore and McGonagall arrived and before we knew it, it was over,” Lee finished with a sigh.

 

“Voldemort just Disapparated, the rest scurrying out behind him like little lemmings.  Cowards!” Fred spat with disgust.

 

“Thank heavens for that,” Mrs. Weasley breathed and Ginny echoed the sentiment silently.  Thank God, thank God.

 

 _Crack_.  Remus appeared in the kitchen, conscious and healthy.  Ginny was so relieved she could have hugged him.  Tonks beat her to it, throwing her arms around him.  “Blimey, Remus.  All right?”

 

He nodded grimly.  “Dung got it worse than me.  He’s still unconscious.”  He pulled away, meeting Adrianna’s eyes he said.  “Voldemort got the book.”

 

She nodded grimly, rubbing her head.  “Was it what we thought it was?”

 

“ _Das Empath Blutbad_?”

 

Adrianna sighed, “That’s it.  I still can’t figure why _that_ book would be so important.”

 

“At least we have a copy,” Ginny said softly.

 

“True,” Adrianna responded distractedly, closing her eyes and pressing her palms to her temples.  Her breathing quickened.  “A witch just arrived at the cottage.  Long black hair—”

 

“Bellatrix Lestrange,” Fred supplied.  “Must have gone there after leaving Dean’s.  She’s vicious, ‘Drana.”

 

Adrianna frowned and walked away from them, clutching her head and muttering under her breath.

 

There was another _Crack_ , and this time Dumbledore appeared.  “Mrs. Thomas and Mundungus are still in serious condition,” he said gravely, without being asked.  “The others will be fine.”  Ginny held her breath as his wise eyes settled on her.  “The young Mr. Thomas requests your company at St. Mungo’s when you are up to it, Miss Weasley.  With your parents’ permission, of course.”

 

This time Ginny knew that she wasn’t imagining the way Harry’s hand clenched on her waist and he avoided her gaze.  She looked over at her mother, whose eyes were trained on George’s extended and cleaned leg.  Molly turned and looked at her with something sad and longing in her eyes—

 

“What’s going on down here?”  Ron called from halfway down the stairway.  

 

The twins looked at each other and laughed.  “Long story,” George slurred, unable to keep his eyes open.

 

Ron perused the room carefully.  “Is everyone all right there?”

 

That depended on which everyone he was talking about.  “Right as rain,” Fred called back brightly.  Mum was right.  He didn’t know when it was time to be serious.

 

“Well, then,” Ron said in an oddly grownup tone, “if there is nothing urgent down here, I have one more name on my list.”  And just like that, he had bypassed the twins in maturity along with half the people Ginny knew.  Weird.

 

“Let’s go,” Fred said, grinning at Lee, who stood up with a smile.

 

“What!”  Mrs.  Weasley screeched.  “You can’t … you just—”

 

“Don’t worry Molly,” Dumbledore said with a soft smile, not unlike Fred’s.  Just … tempered.  “We’ll take care of this handily.”

 

Ginny’s mother relaxed measurably when she realized that Dumbledore would be going with them.  They followed Ron up the stairs along with Remus and Tonks.  George gave up the fight and hunched over in his chair snoring loudly as his mother wrapped his leg.  Adrianna was facing the wall, talking to herself, and appearing to all the world like the craziest bugger Ginny had ever seen.

 

“You can go to St. Mungo’s tomorrow,” Mrs.  Weasley muttered, startling Ginny.  “ _If_ it’s deemed safe.”

 

“Thanks, Mum,” she said quietly and Harry’s arm fell from her waist, leaving her feeling bereft.  Ginny couldn’t believe this was happening.  There was a war raging around her, her family was in battle, and she was being bombarded with the mess that was her love life.  

 

She felt torn asunder between her wonderful brave friend sitting next to her, her girlhood hero—no, her _hero_ —and the sweet wonderful boy who was in pain and asking for her.  The boy who wanted her, appreciated her.  Dean would be the perfect boyfriend, but Harry …

 

Her gaze searched his face as he looked down.  For the first time, Ginny thought that she might be hurting _him_ if she chose Dean.  But that was ridiculous, right?  Harry didn’t want her.  He looked like he was in pain because his head hurt.  It wasn’t really a choice.  It was Dean or being alone.  Harry wasn’t an option.  Was he?

 

Ginny thought about how horrible she felt today when she thought Dean would die.  But then, when she saw Harry unconscious … she fought back tears.  She had been _so_ scared.

 

Could Ginny break poor wonderful Dean’s heart just for the _possibility_ of being with Harry?  The slim, miniscule chance?  It was a silly question, because Ginny knew she _could_.  She just didn’t know if she would.

  
  
  


* * * * *

 

 

 

 

Things quieted down significantly after Ron sent the last party out.  Thankfully, it turned out that mission had been to one of the extra names and that family wasn’t targeted after all.  

 

Good thing, too.  By the time the team got there … well, the way Ron saw it, his brother and the other members of the Order were either Portkeying into a parlor full of very confused people, or into a massacre.  He was just thankful that it was the former.

 

After they left, Ron had had no idea what to do with the returning witches and wizards.  Thankfully, Kingsley had ultimately returned and sent the majority of them home.  Though, as he stared down at the list of Order members, Ron couldn’t help but feel anxious about that decision.  There were still a lot of unaccounted for people on his list.  He knew that many of them were at the safe houses.  Or St.  Mungo’s.  But still, he’d feel better if he knew no one needed back up.

 

He couldn’t even question Kingsley about it.  He and Tonks had taken Dolohov to the Ministry to turn him into Carter.  Also, a decision that Ron questioned.  What were they going to do?  Put him in Azkaban?  Again?  Didn’t anybody have a better idea than _that_?  At least they had the sense to Obliviate him to the point where he couldn’t remember his name.  Still, Ron would have preferred a more _permanent_ solution to the Dolohov situation.

 

Ron felt soft warm hands settle on his shoulders and knead his tense muscles.  Mmmm.  Hermione.  Immediately, the tension started to dissipate, even as instinctively, he looked around the room.  The dining room was empty.  Beyond, in the hall and ballroom no one was paying them any mind.  His mother and Ginny were still caring for the wounded and Harry was lounging on a sofa, drowsy after the headache potion his mother had given him.

 

Sighing, Ron leaned back and allowed himself to enjoy Hermione’s talented hands.  His eyes slipped closed and his head fell back.  He felt her breath warm on his ear as she whispered, “What’s wrong?”

 

Ron shrugged.  Hermione’s hands stilled and he wondered if this was her way of luring him into talking.  Teasing him with bliss, then with holding it back until he delivered.  Oh, well, she always won anyway.  Why delay the inevitable?  

 

“Just these names that don’t have checks by them,” Ron whispered.

 

He was rewarded with her hands massaging him again and a soft kiss on his temple.  Certainly a fair trade.  “Kingsley isn’t worried,” Hermione argued softly.

 

Ron shrugged again, his head lolling forward as she rubbed the nape of his neck.  Damn, Hermione was amazing.  “ _I’m_ worried,” he muttered without thinking.

 

“Ron,” Hermione breathed, “I’m sure they are fine—”

 

“We don’t know that, Hermione,” Ron said more firmly, feeling himself tense again.  He ran his hands through his hair.  “We should have come up with a better plan.”   _He_ should have come up with a better plan.  “Should have thought ahead.  We have no idea if these people are at the safe houses playing exploding snap and sharing a butterbeer, or out in the field, cornered by Death Eaters.”

 

Hermione sighed, falling into the chair next to him and scooting it closer.  “Ron, your plan was _brilliant_.”

 

Ron shook his head, automatically.  Hermione caught his face in both of those wonderfully soft hands.  “Listen to me,” she said quietly, but vehemently.  “You were— _are_ brilliant.  The way you handled it all and with all that pressure and so quickly …”  She bit her lip and he thought he might drown in her wet eyes.  

 

He brushed away a tear with his thumb, asking softly, “What are you crying for?”

 

Hermione laughed a soft, teary laugh.  “I’m just _so_ proud of you.”

 

 Her words cut straight to his heart and Ron was embarrassed to realize that his own eyes were stinging.  Looking at Hermione’s beautiful, earnest expression, he felt _brilliant_.  Well, if not brilliant, competent, brave, _worthy_.

 

In that moment, Ron actually felt worthy of Hermione Granger.  He thought maybe he was good enough to be her boyfriend.  He ran his hand over her face.  He wanted her _so_ badly.  What if he did it?  Asked her right now?  There would never be a better time.  There would never be a time when she thought more of him.

 

“Hermione …” Ron began.  Oh God, he was actually going to do it.  “Hermione …” Now, he just needed to find the words.

 

“Hermione, do you …?”  Adrianna burst into the room, shoving the door all the way open with a clang.  Hermione’s eyes jerked to her.  Ron followed her gaze.  Silently, he cursed Adrianna.  That is until he took in her frantic appearance.  

 

“Have you seen…” she began again, then got distracted and seemed to be listening to disembodied voices.  “It’s too late!”  Adrianna burst out, screaming.  But not at them.  

 

Charlie.  Ron’s heart clenched.  He stood and started toward her.  Hermione grabbed his hand, stilling him, and he clung to it.  

 

“Just get out,” Adrianna shouted, louder.  There was a beat then, “Just get the hell out of there!  Charlie, I said leave!  It’s too late.”  Adrianna was pacing and yelling as if Charlie could hear her better if she bellowed.  She looked quite mental.  “Charlie!  Come back now!  I swear to God—”

 

 _Crack_.  Adrianna took a frantic step toward the sound.  Then she realized it was Bill standing in the foyer, looking like he’d tramped through hell and only had the lousy box in his hand to show for it.

 

When she realized it wasn’t the brother she wanted, Adrianna stumbled back, letting out a frustrated groan.  “Charlie, I’m going to—”

 

 _Crack_.  “Hold on, woman,” Charlie cried as he appeared in front of her.

 

Adrianna let out a sob and threw herself into his arms.  Charlie barely had time to catch her before she jerked back smacking him in the arm.  “I told you to come back, you idiot!”

 

“And I’m back,” Charlie said grinning like a fool.  Ron had never noticed how like the twins he could be.  Either that or he was giddy with the attention he was getting from Adrianna.   _That_ Ron could understand.

 

“Hey, what about me?”  Bill called in mock hurt voice.

 

“You should have come home, too,” Adrianna said in a softer tone, giving him a longer, but decidedly less passionate embrace.

 

“Bill!  Charlie!” his mother gasped as she saw them.  She ran over to embrace her two oldest sons.  

 

People seemed to be coming out of the woodwork.  Ginny rushed in and Harry managed to stumble over from his sofa.  Ron’s father, Remus, Dumbledore, they must have all been lurking about.  They came to greet the returning heroes.  Ron felt a twinge of envy.  Shite, how he would have loved to have been out there.  

 

His mother quickly hugged her two sons, fussing over them.  “Look at you two.  It looks like you walked through the fires of hell, itself.”  She pushed Bill toward the dining room and grabbed Charlie by the arm, dragging him behind.

 

Bill laughed.  “It felt like it.  You should have seen the traps and curses on this place, the Whomping Willow alone.  Thing was _vicious_.”  He threw himself into a chair and held out the small rectangular chest to Dumbledore.  “And this is all we got for our troubles.”

 

“You’re lucky you didn’t get yourselves killed,” Molly barked, pushing Charlie into a chair as well.  “Now show me your wounds.  I _know_ you’ve got them.”

 

Charlie threw up his hands with a laugh.  “You already healed me, remember?”  He threw an intimate look over to Adrianna, who just frowned back and hugged herself tightly.  Dragging his eyes back to his mother, Charlie smiled.  “Go check out your eldest.  He got scratched up, but good.”

 

Sure enough, Bill’s shirt was ripped and bloody.  His mother scurried over.  “Foolish boys,” she muttered under her breath, grabbing the edge of his shirt and yanking it up, as though Bill was still in nappies.

 

“Mum!” he exclaimed, but he was laughing as he let her remove her shirt.

 

“Stop being a baby …” Molly faded off with a hissing breath as she saw the criss-cross welts.

 

“I told you.  That was one nasty tree,” Bill said jauntily.  “Seriously, Mum, it looks worse than it is.”  She hummed in disapproval as she produced her healing kit.

 

 “Dolohov is safely delivered—whoa,” Tonks stopped short and tripped as she entered the dining room, making Kingsley knock into her.  She blushed scarlet and quickly averted her eyes from Bill.  “So, it’s a starkers party, then,” she tried to say lightly, but it came out anxious and tense.

 

“What’s wrong, _Tonks_?  I thought Aurors were supposed to be calm and collected at all times.  A simple wizard’s chest shouldn’t shock you.”  Bill had a way of saying Tonks’ name that made it sound like an insult.  Ron wondered why he’d never noticed before.

 

Tonks scowled at him, looking at him with an unwavering gaze, now.  “No, just most wizards I know have a bit more class.  Don’t need to go flaunting their ridiculously freckled—”

 

“So, what happened at the cottage?”  Ginny interrupted, hastily, preventing Bill’s undoubtedly biting reply.  

 

Bill was bright red as his jaw clenched and unclenched.  The quiet tension dragged on a moment longer as he and Tonks stared each other down and Charlie threw hot looks at Adrianna, who shifted uncomfortably under his gaze.  They were still connected, weren’t they?  Ron wondered if they were communicating.

 

“Not much,” Bill finally said, answering his sister and disengaging from his quiet battle with Tonks.  There was a general murmur of disbelief as his mother went back to cleaning the cuts on his chest.  “There were traps, we got in, we found what Dolohov was after—ow!  Mum, that stings.”

 

Charlie pulled his gaze away from Adrianna and looked over the room.  He gestured toward the chest in Dumbledore’s hands, finishing for Bill, “ _That_ box, there.  But we were at a complete loss for what else Voldemort wanted.”

 

“Nothing like searching for something when you don’t know what you’re searching for,” Bill said bitterly.  “Frustrating, really.  Made the Whomping Willow look like lark.”

 

Molly snorted and Adrianna scoffed, drawling sarcastically, “Barrel of laughs.  Though personally, what I really enjoyed was the pointless battle with the Death Eaters.”

 

It was then that Ron noticed how tense Hermione had grown.  For some reason she held herself stiff, her arms crossed and clutching at herself.  She was looking at Adrianna and Charlie with something like fear.  Or sadness.  It wasn’t clear, but it made Ron worry.  He stepped closer to her.

 

“It wasn’t pointless.  We were trying to find out what they wanted,” Charlie said calmly.  “I should also point out that we were hiding and listening, not confronting.”

 

“We found out that they were looking for a wand and it sounded like some sort of jewelry,” Bill told the group, tiredly.  “They didn’t find anything.”

 

“They found _you_ ,” Adrianna snapped, and Ron couldn’t figure out why she was so annoyed.  It was clearly directed at Charlie, her eyes were shooting daggers at him.

 

“You totally over reacted, Anna,” Charlie shot back, finally loosing his calm.  “You should have let us try to get the jewelry.  We found tons of it—”

 

“Was it worth your life?” Adrianna accused and Molly’s breath hissed.

 

Charlie’s jaw clenched.  “I wouldn’t …” He looked away angrily.  “You know …” he growled, then snapped, “It’s not worth _yours_.”  Far from being cowed, Adrianna merely rolled her eyes at him.

 

Ron remembered the story Hermione had tried to tell him about how Adrianna had got hurt before.  He should have paid better attention.

 

Bill cleared his throat.  “Anyway, we’re pretty sure the wand wasn’t in that cottage.  We tore the place apart.”

 

“And we found plenty of _jewelry_ ,” Charlie repeated, almost as if he were taunting Adrianna.  Ron wondered if they had gone completely mental.  And they said Ron didn’t know when to shut up.

 

“Charlie—” Adrianna warned.

 

“I’m just saying that if you hadn’t been screaming in my head that we needed to come home—”  
 

“There was no need for you to fight them!”

 

“What does that mean?  Of course, there was—”

 

“It _means_ that you had the box, and they were fighting dirty.  It wasn’t worth it.”

  

“An—”

 

“Charlie!”  Mrs. Weasley yelled, cutting off the argument.  “You boys are lucky Adrianna was there to talk some sense into you.  Reckless is what you are, both of you!”

 

Ron’s jaw dropped at his mother taking Adrianna’s side.  She certainly stopped the argument.  Both Charlie and Adrianna could now do nothing but stare at her in shock.  

 

Finally, Charlie slumped in his chair, frowning.  “It doesn’t matter anyway.  We’ll never know what Voldemort wanted.  I blew up the cottage as we Apparated out.  Now at least he won’t get what he wanted, either.  Hopefully, I took Lestrange and McNair out, as well,” he muttered.

 

For a moment Ron thought Charlie was joking.  That he really didn’t hope he’d blown the witch and wizard up.  But then he took in the hard look on his brother’s face and he realized that Charlie really _had_ intended on killing them.  The thought didn’t even seem to bother him.  Looking over to Adrianna, it didn’t seem to bother her either.

 

Ron had never seen such a casual attitude toward killing.  It was strange coming from a brother he had always seen as calm and fun-loving, peaceful even.  Ginny and Harry were exchanging knowing glances and his mother was tense.  It was the way she looked when she _knew_ that one of her children was lying to her.  Ron realized that he was missing something.  Something important.

 

“So, what happened here?”  Bill asked, prompting Remus and Kingsley to tell their end of things.

 

Hermione still had the same tense, upset expression.  Now was as good a time as any to find out what that was all about.  Ron wrapped his hand gently around her arm and pulled her back, away from the others.  

 

She looked up at him curiously as Ron leaned down to whisper in her ear, an echo of her words from before.  “What’s wrong?”  Hermione stiffened even more and looked back toward the others, shaking her head.

 

“Do I need to massage you?” he teased.  Hermione tried not to laugh, but was clearly having a bad time of it.  “I’m not afraid to do it, you know?”

 

“Ron,” Hermione admonished, pushing him a bit with her shoulder.  Then she sighed and her face became grim again.  She glanced back at Adrianna and Charlie before looking him in the eyes.  “It’s just … it’s just that, I look at Adrianna and Charlie, Bill even, and I think,” she looked down and swallowed, “that will be you out there someday.  And Harry.  I know you want to be there now.”  

 

“’Mione,” he whispered, carefully stroking her hand, not knowing how to deny the truth.

 

“And I’ll be like Adrianna.  Terrified that you won’t come home.”

 

Would she?  Would Hermione be waiting and worrying about him.  Somehow, the thought filled him with warmth.  Ron knew that wasn’t the proper response.  Nor was the arousal he felt at her words.  

 

“Hermione, love,” he wheedled, making her eyes jerk up to him.  Ron had learned that endearments got him a long way with Hermione.  “I can’t exactly see you staying behind.  You’d be right there beside us, nagging,” he teased, making her blush and smile.

 

“I suppose,” Hermione said relaxing a bit.

 

Yet, even as Hermione relaxed and turned her attention back to the group, Ron felt himself grow tense.  What the hell was he saying?  Right there beside him?  He didn’t want _that_.  She could be killed.  Shite, now he was panicking.  It wasn’t even happening _now_ and he was panicking.

 

This was no good.  Ron would just have to figure out a way to keep Hermione behind.  She was better at organizing and researching anyway.  She was too smart to waste in combat.  That was for dumb lugs like him.  Right.  He’d think of a way to keep her safe.  Plenty of time.  Shite.

 

The others finished filling Charlie and Bill in on the events and Charlie brought Ron’s mind back to his previous dilemma when he asked, “So, there’s nothing left for us to do, then?”  

 

“Not really,” Kingsley said tiredly and Ron frowned.

 

“Nothing that can’t wait for the morning,” Dumbledore told them lightly, pondering the box in his hands, turning it about.

 

Ron wanted to scream, his eyes again went to the list on the table.  Didn’t anybody care about _that_?  Maybe they knew something he didn’t.  It would be bloody nice if they would fill him in if they knew everyone was safe.

 

“Then if you don’t mind,” Charlie said, pushing himself out of his chair.  “The Following Spell takes a lot out of a bloke.  I’m going to get some rest.”  His eyes fell on Adrianna again, as he said pointedly, “I _suggest_ you do the same.”

 

Adrianna practically sneered at him.  Several people called out greetings as Charlie left the room.  Charlie did have a point, Adrianna looked rather worn.  If anyone should be getting some rest it should be her.  Though, Ron was fairly certain that _wasn’t_ what Charlie had in mind.

 

“We have a copy of the book Voldemort obtained?”  Dumbledore asked.

 

“Yes,” Hermione said eagerly, producing the book that she had retrieved from Adrianna’s room hours ago.

 

“Is there anything in there that looks like this?” the Headmaster asked, holding out the chest.

 

Hermione shook her head even as she sat and started rummaging through the text.  Dumbledore looked over at Adrianna, presumably for her opinion but she was staring absently and didn’t seem to notice him.

 

“Miss Potter,” Dumbledore called softly.  “I do think Mr. Weasley is right.  You should get some rest.”

 

She shook her head, “I’m fine.”  Her distracted tone belied her words.

 

“Adrianna,” Mrs. Weasley said sharply, finally gaining the witch’s attention.  “Go to bed!  You look a fright.”  Molly had her hands on her hips and looked to be daring Adrianna to argue.

 

Surprisingly, Adrianna rose from her chair as directed.  She _must_ be tired.  Halfway out the door she turned and looked at Harry.  “The spell lasts another sixteen hours.  I might not be available for the rest of that time.  I—”

 

“I understand,” Harry said smiling encouragingly.  Adrianna nodded and slipped away.

 

Ron thought that everyone had surely gone daft.  First, his mother told Adrianna to go to bed, then Harry gave her permission to be gone for sixteen hours.  What did they think she was going to do?   _Sleep_?  Weren’t they paying attention?  If Ron knew what was going on, it must be rather obvious.  

 

Ah, well, what they didn’t know couldn’t hurt them, he supposed.  Ron’s eyes once again fell on the list.  He needed to do something.  Decision made, he reached over and clasped it in his hand.  

 

“Kingsley, can I talk to you for a minute …”

  
  
  


 

* * * * * *

 

  


 

 

Harry woke, not having realized that he had fallen asleep.  He silently cursed that blasted potion Mrs. Weasley gave him.  It must have finally pulled him under.  He never should have taken it in the first place.  

 

Harry squinted in the darkness as he sat up.  He’d fallen asleep with his glasses on, which meant that there were now painful creases on either side of his face.  On the far side of the ballroom, he could just make out the clock.  Holly shite, it was after one in the morning.  

 

Pulling off his glasses, Harry sat up and rubbed his eyes, one thought tormenting him, he was _too_ fucking pathetic.  He sat there in a room full of sleeping people who were _actually_ wounded in battle and _he_ fell asleep from a headache potion.  A Goddamn headache.

 

Ron had practically organized the entire mission, while Harry … well, _he_ had passed out.  More than once.  Harry’s big contribution was to look for Voldemort.  Too late to save the mission, by the way, and stop him from getting the book he wanted.  No, Harry was promptly over-powered and he blacked out.  Then he spends the rest of the day recovering, until he finally passes out again.  Quite a day’s work.

 

It was humiliating how often Harry found himself unconscious.  Real manly, this fainting thing.  No wonder Ginny preferred Dean Thomas.  

 

Whoa!  Where had that come from?  When had Harry started to feel as though he was competing with Dean?  More importantly, as though he was inferior to Dean?  Not good enough for Ginny.  When had it started to matter if he was good enough for Ginny?

 

Shite.  Shite.  Shite.  Harry should have known things were heading in this direction.  He had been doomed ever since Ginny’s party when, in his Firewhisky induced high, he had found Ginny the most alluring creature to ever live, the most beautiful, the most fun, the most _alive_.  

 

The problem was it hadn’t faded with the hangover.  Harry _had_ wondered if it was an after-affect of the flame fruit, or perhaps a side-effect of the watch, his feelings becoming enmeshed with Alexi’s.  But fuck, it just wasn’t going away.

 

When confronted today with the painful reminder of Ginny’s relationship, it had felt like a knife in his gut.  The disappointment and envy he felt left a bitter taste in Harry’s mouth.  It was not a taste he was unfamiliar with.  His life was filled with disappointment and envy.  But this was different.  Suddenly, Harry understood why Ron had trampled that figure of Viktor Krum.

 

Now, Harry was being bombarded with painful, confusing feelings that he did _not_ have the time for.  Why was he noticing Ginny _now,_ of all times?  When they were in the middle of a war that _he_ had to fight.  Oh, and mustn’t forget that she had a boyfriend.  

 

Harry had plenty of chances to notice her in the past.  But she’d been just a kid and he’d never been very quick on the uptake, stupid prat that he was.  Now it was too late.  Ginny was with Dean.  

 

 _Dean_ who was brave and jumped in front of a Cruciatus Curse.  Wasn’t that great?  Wasn’t that bloody fantastic?  The only advantage Harry might have had was his hero status and now the competition was a hero as well.

 

What the hell was he thinking?  Competition?  He was _not_ in competition with Dean Thomas.  That implied that he had a chance with Ginny, that he intended on fighting for her.  Ginny was better off with Dean.   _He_ wasn’t cursed with prophecies and destinies and mad wizards targeting him.  

 

Targeting the people he cared for.  And who would be in more danger than a girlfriend?  Funny how Harry’d never worried about that with Cho.  What a selfish arse he was.   _Exactly_ the kind of bloke that was right for a girl like Ginny.  

 

Shite, the girl was already on her second boyfriend and she was year younger than him.  Ginny was popular and fun and everything that Harry wasn’t.  She may have fancied him once, but that’s before she _knew_ him.  Now, she knew him as a person.  And, she fancied Dean Thomas.

 

So, that was that.  Harry just needed to learn to deal with his feelings.  Ginny was a friend.  A friend, who, at the moment, he couldn’t bear the thought of losing.  If he knew what was good for him, he’d better find a way of being supportive of her and Dean.  Or he’d really be left in the cold in the constellations of passionate couples that surrounded him.

 

The feelings coursing through him now were anything but compatible with sleep.  Restless energy hummed through his body.  Harry made his way through the ballroom and was relieved that once he reached the foyer there was a dim light coming from the dining room.

 

Harry found his two best friends on the floor next to the back wall of the room.  Thank God, they weren’t snogging.  Or worse.  Right now, Harry didn’t think he could deal with _that_.

 

Instead, Hermione was sitting up, her back against the wall, her legs outstretched.  Ron lay with his head resting her lap, fast asleep.  Hermione idly ran her fingers through his hair with one hand as she turned the pages of the book she was reading with the other.

 

Hermione must have been distracted because she didn’t seem to notice Harry enter the room.  For a moment he just watched them.  It was strange to see them there so … _couply_.  And yet it wasn’t.  It was also heartbreakingly right.  Comforting.  Like seeing one’s mum and dad holding hands.

 

Why weren’t they together?  For a moment, Harry was enraged by their practicing nonsense.  It was beneath them.  How dare they waste _this_?

 

When Hermione finally noticed him, she looked up at Harry with a sweet affectionate smile that comforted him and chased the anger and pain away, if only for a short time.  “Hi,” she said softly.

 

“Hi,” Harry replied in the same tone, walking nearer and crouching in front of her.  “What are you doing up?  It’s after one.”

 

Hermione shrugged.  “Ron insisted on staying up until the reports came in from the safe houses and St. Mungo’s.  He wanted everyone accounted for.”

 

Harry felt a sudden flash of fear.  “They aren’t back yet?” he asked, alarmed.

 

Hermione just shook her head.  “No, they are.  Remus came back with the last hours ago, but Ron was sleeping so peacefully, so …” Her eyes drifted down as she gazed unabashedly at Ron.  She didn’t even blush, or maybe it was just the candlelight.

 

Harry couldn’t help but chuckle as he said sarcastically, “Well, _that_ makes sense.”  He picked up the book next to her _, The Empath Massacre_.  Of course.  He settled back against the wall, next to her.

 

“He needs sleep,” Hermione defended softly.

 

“So do you.”

 

Hermione looked at Harry with a crooked smile.  “I wouldn’t be able to sleep anyway.  I’d just keep thinking about this book.”  She tapped it absently.

 

Harry swallowed.  “Did you find anything?”  He thought about the cottage, about the secrets, and the dreams.  He told himself they couldn’t possibly be related.  If they weren’t related, he and Ginny hadn’t made a horrible mistake it keeping it to themselves.

 

“No.”  Hermione looked away and silence fell over them.  It wasn’t a comfortable sort of silence.  

 

“We should go to sleep,” Harry said, rubbing his hands on his jeans, nervously.  “It’s been a long day.”

 

Hermione sighed.  “Yeah, I can’t believe just this morning everything was so normal.  We never got to learn that cutting spell.  Not properly.”

 

Was it just last night that Harry and Ginny had the dream about the cottage, about Adrianna’s wand?  “Yeah,” Harry agreed.  “It seems like weeks since Dolohov …”  He broke off as Hermione stiffened, her hand freezing in Ron’s hair.  “Oh, Hermione, I’m sorry.  I wasn’t thinking.”

 

She shook her head a bit, as if she were literally shaking off the bad thoughts.  “No, it’s ok.  It’s fine.”  She smiled reassuringly, her hand resuming its rhythmic stroking.

 

But it wasn’t ok.  She wasn’t fine and neither was Harry.  Suddenly, it seemed ridiculous to pretend they were.  Maybe it was the shadows and quiet, but he … “No, I’m _sorry_ Hermione.  I’m sorry I didn’t stop him at the Department of Mysteries.  I should have … I’m sorry I let him curse you.”  Great, now his throat was thick and frog like.  

 

“Harry,” Hermione whispered, but he couldn’t look at her face.  He felt her take his hand in hers and lace their fingers.  “You couldn’t have stopped him,” she insisted.

 

Harry shook his head.  He _could_ have.  He had to believe that if he had tried hard enough, been aware enough, he _could_ have stopped him.  Because if Harry couldn’t stop Dolohov from using the killing curse on his best friend than how was he going to stop Voldemort for good?  

 

“You could have died,” Harry whispered.

 

“I didn’t.”  Hermione’s voice was light and wheedling.  How could she be so casual about it?  

 

“I thought you had.”

 

Hermione’s breath hissed and her hand tightened reflexively around his.  Somehow, Harry found her distress more comforting than her reassurances.  Why did he want her to know how bad it felt?  Shouldn’t he be trying to protect her from the knowledge?  

 

“It was awful, the way you crumpled.  I …” Crap now he was going to cry.  It was just Harry’s day for manliness.  “I should have—”

 

“Shhh.  Harry, I know.”  Her thumb rubbed soothingly across his.  “I know you did everything you could.  I know you and Ron will always be there to do whatever you can to protect me.”

 

“We’d die for you,” Harry agreed simply.

 

She took a shaky breath, saying with a teary voice, “I know that as well.  I wish you wouldn’t, but I know.”  Harry dragged his eyes to hers and nodded, content at least that Hermione understood.  She smiled through her tears.  “Though, you, Harry,” she teased, “would die for a lot of people.”

 

Harry cracked a smile before he could help himself.  “Well, I’d die especially hard for you,” he assured with a chuckle, hoping Hermione understood.  If her bright smile was any indication, she seemed to.  Harry looked down at Ron, who apparently was proving his ability to sleep through anything and felt a lump in his throat.  “Though, not as gladly as Ron would, I suspect.”

 

This time there was no mistaking Hermione’s blush.  She quickly averted her eyes and bit her lip.  “Harry,” she admonished, but couldn’t seem to come up with anything more.

 

Harry cleared his throat, feeling brave suddenly.  “So, when are you going to stop this stupid practicing nonsense and make it official?”  Oops.  That came out harsher than he intended.

 

Hermione just squeaked, “Official?”

 

“Your relationship,” Harry prompted, with a small smile.

 

“Oh that.”  She drew a shaky breath and gave him a nervous smile.  Hermione glanced back down at her hand in Ron’s hair.  “Whenever he asks me.”

 

Harry laughed.  “Since when do you wait for him?  Why don’t _you_ ask him?  Or better yet, just tell him what’s what.  You usually do.  Just say ‘Ron, you’re being thick as usual.  From now on you’re my boyfriend.’  Ron will agree.  He’s rubbish at saying ‘no’ to you.  In the long run, anyway.”

 

“I don’t know about that.”  Her laugh was self-deprecating.  But when Hermione looked back up at Harry, her eyes were serious.  “I don’t want to nag him into a relationship.  He has to ask.  He has to be _sure_.  Otherwise it’d be … emasculating for him, and you know Ron.”

 

Yeah, he did know Ron.  He was rather traditional, but still … Harry sighed.  “You know that could take awhile.  Ron’s a bit slow about things like this.”

 

A dreamy smile came over Hermione’s face, her hand running softly over Ron’s face.  “I can be patient.”

 

It was heart-wrenching, really, watching them.  If anyone belonged together it was them.  It wasn’t an easy realization for Harry to make, but somehow it gave him hope.  Love could be like _that_.  There was something to fight for.  “Time is precious, Hermione,” he told her quietly.  “You shouldn’t waste—”

 

Hermione cut off his words with a squeeze of his hand.  “I know.  I know.”  She sniffed a bit, and used the back of her hand, still joined with his to wipe her eyes.  Her head lolled over and rested on Harry’s shoulder.  For a bit he enjoyed the moment, the intimacy with his best friends.  Not a moment to waste.

 

Hermione broke the silence with a soft whisper, “I have this fantasy.  Professor Dumbledore just shows up one day and tells us that Voldemort is dead.  He killed him.  That’s it.  No big battle.  No one gets hurt.  Everything just changes while we sleep.  We don’t even have to fight.”

 

A lump the size of a Quaffle lodged in Harry’s throat as familiar guilt washed over him.  “That isn’t going to happen,” he choked out.

 

“It could,” Hermione argued in a soft hopeful voice, her head still on his shoulder.  “I know it’s anticlimactic—”

 

Harry shook his head.  “No.  It couldn’t.  Dumbledore can’t kill Voldemort.”

 

Hermione lifted her head and looked up at him, considering him with a furrowed brow.  “Why not?  He—”

 

“Hermione, I’ve kept something from you.”  Harry took a shaky breath, steeling himself for her inevitable and justified rage, but he couldn’t lie to her.  Not anymore.

 

She stiffened almost imperceptibly, her eyes darting around his face.  “Harry?  But—”

 

“You remember the prophecy,” Harry said quickly before he lost his nerve.  What was he thinking?  Of course, _Hermione_ remembered the prophecy.  “Dumbledore knew what it said.  I mean, he was there when Trelawney made it.  He told it to me the night after … after the Department of Mysteries.  Hermione, I …” he broke off at her look of disbelief.  He should be apologizing or something.  God.

 

“Why didn’t you tell us?”  Hermione whispered.  She sounded confused, not angry.  As long as she wasn’t hurt.  Please don’t let her be hurt.

 

Harry let out a short puff of a laugh.  “There are too many reasons to count.  With everything that had happened, everything that _was_ happening … I reckon I just didn’t want to believe it.  I didn’t want it to be real.”

 

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione breathed.  “It’s about you?”  Harry nodded and the look of unconditional caring that came over her face made him feel even worse.  “You didn’t tell anyone?  You’ve dealt with this all on your own?”

 

Great, now he felt like a complete shite.  She _would_ be sympathetic.  He shook his head.  “I’ve talked to Dran—but not because I _told_ her.  She read it on me right away.   _Made_ me talk about.”  Harry rushed to reassure Hermione that he hadn’t told someone else and not her.  He hadn’t betrayed them in _that_ way.  Them.  Fuck, now he was telling Hermione without Ron.  He couldn’t do anything right.

 

Hermione nodded.  “Good, that’s good.”

 

Her acceptance made him want to cry.  Harry didn’t deserve her as a friend.  He should have told her before now.  “It says _I_ have to kill Voldemort,” he burst out.

 

“What?”  Hermione gasped, loud enough that Ron stirred.  Just a bit, but he stayed asleep.  Harry almost wished he’d wake up so he wouldn’t have to tell the story twice.

 

A look of horror came over Hermione’s face.  Maybe it was this look above all others that Harry had been avoiding.  He closed his eyes to block it out.  “I’m the only one who can kill him.  Or he has to kill me.  One or the other.  We can’t both live.”  Crap, it sounded awful out loud.  No wonder, he hadn’t wanted to talk about it.  It was good that Ron was asleep.  He couldn’t stand two of _that_ expression.

 

“But … but how?”  Hermione stammered.  “I don’t understand.  Can you be sure it’s—”

 

Harry couldn’t take this.  He let the story rush out, in a jumbled mess.  “It could have been me or Neville, based on birthdates, but it’s definitely me.  Voldemort chose me.  When he tried to kill me and marked me, I became the one.  He sealed my Fate.  Now it’s my Destiny to kill or be killed.  That’s why I had to use Legilimency today, since I’m the only who can defeat him … we didn’t want anyone in an impossible position.”  Harry squeezed his eyes shut tightly.  Adrianna was right, Destiny sucked.

 

“Oh, God, Harry,” Hermione moaned, tears in her voice, breaking his heart.

 

“It’s not that bad,” he reassured, though he wasn’t sure he meant it.  It was important to him that _she_ believe it, though.  “I used to think that it was going to make me a murderer and that I would be just as bad as … well, now, I realize we’re all going to have to kill.  Eventually.”

 

“Harry, no,” Hermione gasped again, shocked.  

 

Oops, he reckoned that wasn’t as reassuring as he meant it to be.  He searched her face, Hermione looked so innocent and he had to destroy that.  “We will,” Harry insisted calmly.  “Remember how cavalier Charlie was about blowing up the cottage with Death Eaters in it?  That’s how we’ll all be soon enough.  We’ll have to be.  If we want to win, to survive.”

 

“Harry, that’s not true.  Charlie was just …” but Hermione trailed off, because she didn’t understand.  How could she, with all that he’d kept from her?

 

“Charlie and Adrianna understand what it takes to fight dark magic.  They’ve had to kill before,” Harryexplained.

 

Again Hermione looked confused.  “What are you talking about?  Adrianna’s an Auror, I understand, but …”

 

Harry swallowed, confessing, “So is Charlie.”

 

Hermione’s breath sucked in.  She looked away, eyes darting about the room as she tried to digest this information.

 

“We found evidence in Carter’s office,” Harry continued.  “Ginny and I.  I’m not even sure why we didn’t tell you.  I reckon we weren’t sure, but the pieces have been falling together.  Today … you can just see it.  Adrianna and Charlie were partners.  And not just in the romantic sense.”  He cursed the bitter humor in his voice.  Now, wasn’t the time.

 

“Did they tell you this—?”

 

“No.  But isn’t it obvious.”

 

Hermione looked down again, her face sad.  “Yeah, I suppose so.”  Their hands were still joined.  That was good right?  It meant she wasn’t angry with him.  At least not _too_ angry at him.  

 

“Wow, this is … _wow_.”  She shook her head.  “I’m sorry.  I’m having trouble digesting all this.”

 

Harry nodded, feeling worse.

 

“So, how many other secrets are you keeping?” Hermione asked in a teasing tone, seeming to try to diffuse the tension.

 

It didn’t work.  “Lots.”

 

Hermione’d eyes snapped up.  “I was joking.”

 

“I wasn’t,” Harry countered seriously, determined not to lie anymore.

 

“Ok, well …” Hermione prompted obviously waiting for more confessions.

 

“I can’t tell you the rest without Ginny,” Harry said quickly.  He grimaced, anticipating the response, but if he told about the watch without Ginny, then … well, he’d rather have Hermione angry than Ginny.

 

Hermione frowned, hurt finally clear on her face.  “Why, Harry?  I understand about the prophecy.  It had to be _painful_.  But the other stuff—”

 

“I’m sorry.  I just … I was stupid and selfish.  I … we … I was just a bit jealous about all the secrets everyone else had.  Adrianna and Charlie, you and Ron.  Spending—”

 

Hermione winced.  “Oh, God, Harry.  We didn’t mean … I’m _so_ sorry.”

 

“No, it’s fine.”  Great, now _she_ felt bad.  As if a few pseudo-secret snogs compared to the secrets he and Ginny were keeping.  “Really, I’m completely fine with it.  It’s a horrible excuse anyway.  It was just … it felt good to have a secret of our own.  The secrets weren’t much at the beginning.  They just got out of hand.”

 

Hermione was staring at him with a nervous expression.  Harry was still waiting for the anger, waiting for a demand to know the secrets.  Instead, she got shy.  “So, you are ok with _us_?”  She gestured her head toward Ron.

 

Harry swallowed, after everything he did, all she wanted was his blessing.  She was amazing.  “Well, if he’d just make an honest woman of you …” he joked trying to cut the uncomfortably high emotion in the room.  Her serious face didn’t crack.  “I’m kidding.  I think it’s brilliant.  Really.”

 

Her face broke into a perfect toothy grin.  “Really?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

She took a relieved breath.  “Thanks, Harry.”  —leaned up and kissed him on the cheek.

 

He felt an intense wave of love for her.  Harrywanted to do something for her.  “Do you want me to talk some sense into Ron, over there?”  Harry offered gruffly.

 

Hermione smiled.  “No.  He’ll come to it on his own.”

 

Harry looked her over, she didn’t seem entirely confident.  “Well, if you change your mind, let me know.”  She nodded and Harry started to stand.  “You really should get some sleep.”  He gave her hand a final squeeze before it slipped away.

 

She nodded.  “I will.  Are you going to bed?”

 

No more secrets, right?  “I’m going to go check on Ginny.  It’s been a hard day for her.”  Harry hadn’t even known that was his intention until he told Hermione.  As they shared a soft smile and he headed for the stairs, he suddenly realized how worried he was about Ginny.  With Dean and her brothers …

 

The room was dark when Harry opened the door.  Ginny’s curtain was drawn.  He was contemplating leaving her alone when he heard a muffled sob from behind the drape.  “Ginny?” he called softly.

 

She didn’t answer.  Harry closed the door and approached carefully, gently lifting her curtain.  The sight of her curled in a ball, shoulders shaking with the force of her sobs, made his heart clench painfully.  She held her pillow tightly over her face to muffle the sounds of her weeping.

 

“Ginny?” he tried again with no response.  Trying not to think too much, Harry climbed up on the bed, reaching out carefully to touch her arm.  “Ginny, are you all right there?”

Still there was no response.  “Do you want to talk?”  he asked, like the stupid arse he was.  Obviously, she didn’t want to talk.  But at least he got a response when she shook her head.

 

Harry stared at her.  He didn’t know what to do.  He didn’t know what to say.  But somehow, he knew he couldn’t leave.  Was that selfish, as well?  Carefully, Harry lay down next to her.  “So, um, I’m just going to lie here, then.  Let me know if you want me to leave.”

 

And he did.  For long moments, he laid there, not touching her, listening to the sickening sounds of her sobs, until he couldn’t take it for another second.  Not knowing what he was doing, Harry rolled over and came up behind her.  Ginny would tell him to leave if she wanted him to.  Wouldn’t she?

 

Gently, he reached out and embraced her.  If only he could keep his body from being so bloody rigid.  Ginny’s sobbing didn’t change.  She didn’t even acknowledge Harry’s presence.  Then … then her hand curled around his wrist, holding his arm around her.

 

Harry did his best to stifle his groan as he impulsively hauled her back to him and embraced her more fully.  He whispered foolish nonsense and lies like, “It’s going to be ok,” and managed to keep himself from crying.

 

Ginny never responded.  Eventually, her sobs died down and they both fell into a troubled sleep.

  


  


* * * * *


	35. Under Duress

Hermione felt sick with guilt.  Among other things, she had lied to Harry.  She had no intention of even trying to sleep.  It was pointless anyway, since her mind was racing like a run away train.  There was too much to think about, to figure out, to read.  Riddles to solve, plans to make, evil to defeat.

 

Though, since her talk with Harry, all the previous worries had been chased from Hermione’s mind.   _The Empath Massacre_ lie, abandoned, beside her.  She couldn’t even begin to concentrate on it.  All ponderings about Voldemort, cottages, and ancient chests had been pushed aside.  

 

Guilt could do that.  It was really a powerful emotion.  Powerful enough to over come any anger Hermione probably _should_ be feeling toward Harry at this moment for keeping all those secrets from her and Ron.  But how could she be angry when it was all her fault?  

 

When had she become so selfish?  She certainly hadn’t always been this way.  Hermione had always prided herself on being able to put personal issues aside for the greater good.  Whether the greater good be saving the world, doing research on the latest threat, or a routine homework assignment, priorities were priorities.

 

But then, maybe Ron and Harry had always been Hermione’s first priority.  Ever since the day they had saved her from that blasted mountain troll.  Maybe even before that.  Everything went out the window when it came to them.  Rules, responsibility, propriety …

 

She looked down at the beloved face relaxed on her lap.  He looked so trusting, so innocent.  Hermione thought back over the last few weeks and their _activities_.  Yes, propriety was in the metaphorical toilet, so to speak.  Propriety, along with all her treasured priorities.

 

Before anything at all happened between her and Ron, before the Department of Mysteries, Hermione had worried about how a relationship between them would affect Harry.  Would he feel left out?  Abandoned?  Excluded?

 

Hermione had always worried that because of Harry’s history, he would over-react and misinterpret every little thing as a slight.  She’d worried he’d use Ron and Hermione’s connection as an excuse to withdraw into himself and shut them out.

 

Never, _ever_ , did Hermione think that these feelings would be justified.  She never considered that they actually _would_ exclude Harry, abandon him.  Yet, _that’s_ exactly what she had done.  She had completely overestimated herself and underestimated him.

 

Not only did Harry not run from her and Ron, he accepted them and supported them.  He had even offered to “talk some sense” into Ron.  It brought tears to her eyes.  Hermione didn’t deserve such an amazing friend.  How could she have let him down like this?

 

She’d been so wrapped up in Ron and Practicing and her own insecurities.  Hermione was lucky that _all_ Harry had done was turn to Ginny with their keeping so many secrets.  She was fortunate Adrianna had been there to pick up the pieces that Hermione had so carelessly dropped.  Otherwise, how would Harry have dealt with Sirius’ death and the Department of Mysteries _and_ the prophecy?

 

Oh God!  The prophecy.  How had Harry managed to keep that from them?  Would he have been able to if she had been paying better attention?  The weight of it must be tremendous.  It was bad enough before.  Now, he really _was_ responsible for the welfare of the entire wizarding world.  And Voldemort would never stop until Harry was dead.  

 

Not only that.  Harry would _have_ to kill.  It was almost as scary as dying.  Though, Harry didn’t seem to think so.  And what was this newfound casual attitude toward killing?  Hermione had no idea what to make of _that_.  She suspected it was Adrianna’s doing, but was it a good or a bad thing?  

 

Or, once again, was Hermione just being naïve?  Would she get to a point where she would think nothing of blowing up a building with Death Eaters in it?  How had Charlie arrived at that place?  Auror training?

 

Hermione’s head was beginning to throb.  Ron moved restlessly in her lap.  Oh God, Ron didn’t know about the prophecy.  Should she tell him or should she wait for Harry?  Hermione couldn’t keep something like that from Ron!  Heavens, how was he going to react?  Ron was so protective, _too_ protective, more protective than he had good sense, sometimes.

 

Gazing down at him, for the first time she noticed that the bright stands under her fingertips were damp.  Hermione brushed the fringe from his forehead and found Ron flushed and covered with a sheen of sweat.

 

“Hermione.  God, love … no … no… no …”

 

Her breath caught and she shook her head in denial.  The nightmares were not back.  Ron did not have nightmares when she was with him.  He hadn’t had one in _weeks_.  Hermione found herself growing somewhat hysterical.

 

“Please, ’Mione.  Don’t!”

 

Ron sounded terrified.  It brought tears to her eyes.  Hermione brushed back his hair with a trembling hand.  She had thought that the nightmares were a thing of the past.  Hoped at least.  She’d been too complacent, that was the problem.  Just like everything else, she’d been distracted and lazy and selfish.

 

Of _course_ , the dreams would be back, wasn’t Hermione, herself, afraid of falling asleep and being haunted by Dolohov’s twisted face?  Every time she closed her eyes she was back in the Department of Mysteries.

 

“Let me go!  Bastard … Hermione!”

 

Oh God.  It was all too much.  Now, she needed to address this nightmare situation and soon.  The summer was slipping away.  What were they going to do when they went back to Hogwarts?  It was less than two weeks away.  

 

Hermione’s stomach sank.  What would it be like to be back?  So much had changed.  Oh God, she didn’t want to go.  She wanted to stay here, where they were safe.  Here, she could watch Harry and Ron more closely.  Here, Ron and she were … Hermione needed her plan to work before they left!  Ron needed to be in love with her.  They needed to be _together_.  She needed more time.

 

“Don’t touch her!”

 

Ron yelled the last phrase so clearly and loudly that Hermione flinched.  What was she thinking?  She was doing it again.  Getting lost in her love life when there were more important things to worry about and now she was sitting there like an idiot while Ron was suffering.

 

“Shhh, love,” Hermione whispered, her voice sounding rough and strange to her own ears.  “I’m here.  I’m here.”

 

“Hermione!”  Ron yelled hoarsely, not at all soothed.

 

Her heart rate increased further.  At this rate, Hermione was going to have a heart attack before she reached seventeen.  “Ron,” she whispered urgently, bending closer.  “Wake up.  Wake up.”  

 

“No!”  He started thrashing wildly.  Hermione could barely hold him.  She glanced around nervously, worried Ron had awoken someone.

 

Hermione could barely hold him.  “Ron,” she sobbed, trying to still his quaking shoulders.  “Wake up!  Wake up!”  He was _definitely_ going to waken someone.  Hermione kissed his face almost desperately.  “Please, wake up.”  

 

He made a choking sound and Hermione slapped a hand over his mouth, just as Ron opened it to let out a horrifying scream.  He jerked, his eyes snapping open, staring at her wide-eyed and terrified, gasping for breath.  Hermione stared back, her chest heaving like she’d run a mile.  Her hand slipped from his mouth and her mind went blank.  She had no idea what to say, what to do.

 

Ron came to himself before Hermione did, gasping, “Oh, thank God.”  He sat up, cupping her face roughly, with gentle hands … though, that didn’t make sense.  Her brain was clearly a scrambled mess.  

 

“Thank God,” Ron breathed again, just before he kissed her.  

 

Hermione went limp, strangely surprised.  Ron’s kisses were both fervent and passionate.  Demanding and desperate.  There was no way for her not to respond.

 

Her lips softened and her hands fluttered up to rest on the back of his head.  Harshly, she moved her lips over his, sucking on his lips, forcefully, but not as forcefully as Ron.  He was devouring her.  Her mind started to blank in an entirely different way and she opened her mouth, hoping for his tongue.  Hermione whimpered when he withdrew instead.

 

“Shite, Hermione,” Ron muttered, his lips millimeters away from hers.  His nose was pressed firmly into her cheek, his forehead on hers, as he held her impossibly close.  “Fuck.”

 

“Language,” Hermione mumbled, without thinking, as she panted against his lips.  She wished they weren’t so far away.

 

Ron chuckled breathlessly, then mercifully he kissed her again, picking up just where he left off.  Thank God.  Thank heavens.  Their faces tipped in perfect synchrony, practiced.  His tongue slid inside in that wonderfully drugging way that made all the badness go away, leaving Hermione’s blessedly weak and warm.

 

She didn’t have another coherent thought until she felt him grab her hips and urgently try to pull her even closer.  They were in an awkward position, him sitting to her left and Hermione with her legs straight out, but if anything their position just made Ron more frantic, sucking harder on her tongue and muffling her moans.

 

Ron got onto his knees and pulled.  He wrapped a hand around her calf trying to get her to straddle him.  Hermione was a tangle of limbs.  She had to pull her lips away to catch her breath.  Her thoughts cleared slowly as the room came into focus.  Ron whimpered, maneuvering her roughly, his hand sliding up her thigh.

 

Hermione shivered.  How was a girl to think?  “Ron.  Stop,” she panted.  Bracing herself against his shoulders to steady herself as he moved her about as though she were a rag doll.

 

“’Mione,” he whined, one hand on her bum, one on her back.  Damn, Ron was strong.  Hermione was lost and a large part of her wanted to stay lost.  Hadn’t she just been thinking that she needed to stop getting distracted like this?  Stop being selfish?

 

“Wait,” Hermione managed, desperately trying to gather her thoughts.  “Are you all right?”

 

“Mm fine.  I jus’ need you.”

 

Well, if he put it _that_ way … no.  No.  Hermione had to stop this, but his tongue was back in her mouth and it felt sogood.  It wasn’t fair how good he had become at this, and so fast.  Since when was _he_ the quick study?  Maybe it was all instinct and Ron was a creature of instinct.  While she, _she_ was the thinker.

 

Why did she always have to be the one to think?  Hermione didn’t want to think.  But she did, remembering that they were in the dining room, with people sleeping just outside the _open_ door.

 

Hermione pushed him away.  “Ron.”  Show some restraint, Hermione!  Think about someone other than yourself!  “Your dream.  What were you dreaming about?”  

 

Ron scowled at the loss of contact.  “What do you think?” he snapped, startling her.  He looked away and sighed.  “Sorry … I …” He rubbed his face roughly.  “I’m sorry, I … I didn’t mean it like that.”

 

Gently, she pulled his hands away from his face.  “Ron, this isn’t good.  If the nightmares are back then we need to do something.”  Hermione was stating the obvious, but it was the best she could do at the moment.

 

Their eyes met and Ron’s face transformed into a seductive half smile.  “That’s what I was trying to do,” he said huskily, glancing at her lips with a leer that made her giggle in a somewhat hysterical manner.

 

Hermione ran both her hands over Ron’s face.  How she loved him.  “And that’s going to help how?”

 

Ron’s eyes slipped closed as he leaned into her hands.  “Makes me feel better.”  He turned his face and kissed her palm.  “Makes me forget the bad stuff.”  He pulled her closer so their bodies were flush again.  Rubbing his hands on Hermione’s back, he whispered, “Reminds me I’m alive.  That _you’re_ alive.”

 

Tears filled Hermione’s eyes as she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed his eyelids.  “Ron.  Ron.”  Her throat was thick.  “I …”  She wished she could always be here for him like this, to soothe him.  Her lips moved to his forehead.  “This isn’t a long-term solution.”

 

“Mmm,” Ron hummed, nuzzling her cheek and ear with his nose.  “Yeah, well, it’s fun.”  His eyes fluttered open and he grinned cheekily at her.

 

Hermione couldn’t grin back.  “We’re going back to school soon.”

 

Ron stiffened immediately.  His head turned away from her.  As Hermione watched his jaw clench and unclench reflexively, she cursed herself for bringing the subject up.  Why couldn’t she pretend for just a little longer?

 

There was a long, terrible silence, where Hermione grew more and more anxious.  Ron was withdrawing from her.  Physically, he was still there but … desperate, she pressed her lips to his check, hard.  Come back, love.

 

Ron swallowed, turning slightly to look at her through lowered lashes.  “I don’t suppose you’d consider sleeping with me in my dormitory?”

 

Hermione sighed, frowning because she knew he wasn’t joking.  And because she was tempted to agree.  “Ron, we’re prefects.”

 

His eyes snapped to hers, the look in them hard.  “Hermione, I don’t give a rat’s—”

 

“Ron!”  His head snapped away from hers again, withdrawing once more, putting up barriers.  What _would_ happen when they went back?  “Ron.”  She tried to force him to look at her again with a hand on his cheek.  When he finally did there was a wild desperation in his eyes that resonated with her own deepest fears.

 

This time it was Hermione that started the frantic kissing.  Or maybe it wasn’t.  Ron met her halfway so it was hard to tell, especially with the teeth clashing and his hands everywhere and the tell-tale part of him pressed against her as she clutched his hips with her knees.

 

It was a long while before they pulled apart this time, the people just beyond the door the last thing on Hermione’s mind.  Ron pressed a harsh, biting kiss on the tender skin of her neck and rested there, his face pressed into the crook of her shoulder.  She rubbed his back, smelling sweat and boy and Ron.

 

“It was wretched,” Ron whispered against her.  “The nightmare, I mean.  Though, the day was pretty bad, as well.”  He chuckled at his own joke, teasing her skin with the vibrations.   

 

“We’ll do something,” she soothed.  “We’ll figure something out.”  Hermione’s hands caressing his nape, the first semblance of a plan forming in her head.  And finally, finally she began to relax.  She _could_ do this.

 

“I thought they were gone,” Ron whispered.

 

“I know.  I … it’s only natural that they’d recur after today.  They’ll fade again,” Hermione stated with more confidence than she felt.

 

“Yeah.”  Ron didn’t sound convinced either, but he squeezed her tight and kissed her neck one last time before leaning back to look her in the eyes.  He gave her that heartbreaking lopsided grin that never failed to get him what he wanted.  From her anyway.  “Are you sure that you can’t just sleep with me in my dormitory?  It’s a … _convenient_ solution.”

 

Hermione laughed outright at the playful leer in his voice.  It wasn’t fair that such a thing should make her feel so incredibly wanted.  All she could think was, he planned on doing _this_ once they were back at school.  Ron didn’t want it to end.  That was good.  

 

But Hermione couldn’t let it override her good sense.  At least, not again.  She cleared her throat and tried to look serious.  “Again, I remind you, we are _prefects_.”

 

“Again, I say ‘so. ’”

 

Hermione pressed her lips together to keep from smiling.  Mustn’t back down.  She sat back and purposefully rolled her eyes.  Mustn’t let him know that all she could think was, He wants me.  He wants me.

 

“Well,” Hermione said, standing.  “We’re not at Hogwarts now.  So, let’s go to bed.”

 

“I don’t want to sleep,” Ron whined as she tugged on his hands.

 

“So, we won’t.”  Hermione replied, biting her lip as she thought of all that needed to be discussed with him.  How much should they get into tonight?

 

Hermione was a bit surprised when Ron grinned broadly.  “Really?”  he asked hopefully.

 

This time when she rolled her eyes, it was genuine.  Is this all he really thinks about?  “We can _talk_ ,” Hermione said firmly.  Telling him about the prophecy would kill his mood for sure.  Maybe she should just make sure Harry told him tomorrow.

 

“How’s that going to help?”  Ron grumbled, finally standing.

 

“It will distract you.  Besides, I need to tell you what I found out about Harry and Ginny.”  She’d just tell him that there were secrets, try to prepare him for the news.

 

Ron groaned.  “Not _that_ again …”

 

Then again, could any of them _really_ be prepared?

  
  
  


* * * * *

 

 

 

 

“Mum says I can bring you to see the Thomas boy today,” Bill said casually over a cup of tea at breakfast.

 

It took Ginny a full minute to realize that her fork had clattered to the table.  She looked down at it dumbly and then back up at her brother.  Why did her family have to choose _this_ moment to start approving of her dating?  Were they trying to torture her?  Maybe it was a scheme to put her off boys for good.

 

Glancing anxiously around the table, Ginny shrank back from the inquisitory and accusing eyes.  “All right, Ginny?”  Hermione asked carefully.  She looked confused.  Ron was scowling into his bacon and Harry ….  his expression was strangely blank as he stared back at her, a fork full of beans frozen half-way to his mouth.  Ginny wondered if her expression was the same.  

 

Ginny didn’t realize she was staring at Harry until he dragged his eyes firmly to the plate before him.  The horrible sinking feeling she got in her stomach as a result snapped her back to reality.  Humiliation filled her.  She may have just given something horribly personal and embarrassing away.  

 

That thought gave Ginny the impetus to put on a bright, convincing smile and finally answer Hermione’s question.  “Of course.  That sounds brilliant.”

 

She reminded herself that she was a good actress.  Judging by Bill’s disgusting smirk she had been overly successful.  His expression said, “Little baby Ginny, nervous about seeing her ikle boyfriend, how cute.”  If he only knew.

 

But her idiot brother didn’t know his arse from his elbow.  No wonder Tonks dumped him.  At least that’s how it had gone in Ginny’s imagination and she was accepting no other version.  Especially, when Bill was being so pompously indulgent.  

 

Couldn’t someone else bring her to see Dean?  She was perfectly willing to wait for Charlie to emerge from his exile.   _He_ couldn’t tease her after spending sixteen hours locked in a room with Adrianna.  Hell, Ginny was willing to wait until next June if necessary.

 

“We’ll leave about eleven.  What do you say?”

 

Ginny took a deep breath through her nose.  What did she say?  How about, Now’s not a good time, Bill?  See, she was in the middle of a nervous breakdown.  First of all, she couldn’t handle this Goddamned war.  People seemed to think she could, but she couldn’t.  

 

Then there was the fact that she had this unnatural attachment to Harry Potter, and even though she tried to convince herself that it wasn’t fated to be … really, how could she, Ginny, be the girlfriend of the Boy-Who-Lived?  She couldn’t even handle one measly battle, one where she was safe at Headquarters the _entire_ time.

 

But he held her last night.  Harry.  The emotionally scared, distant, brooding boy with walls a mile high, who never noticed other people’s feelings, had held her all night long.  Without prompting, even.  He was too wonderful.  Far too wonderful for simple little her.

 

“That sounds fine,” Ginny replied remarkably evenly.

 

“Good, then,” Bill said simply and went back to reading the _Daily Prophet’s_ significantly watered downed version of yesterday's events.

 

Good, then.  Mechanically, Ginny lifted a fork full of well prepared eggs to her lips and found that it suddenly tasted like parchment.  It stuck uncomfortably in her throat.  She tried to wash it down with pumpkin juice, but that seemed to have turned sour over the last few minutes.

 

She glanced up through lowered lids at the quiet and tense room and she couldn’t stand it anymore.  “I reckon I better get ready,” Ginny said softly, standing quickly and carefully avoiding looking at Harry.

 

Oh God, Ginny was going to see Dean.  What was she going to do?

 

“Chin up,” Bill teased.  “I heard a rumor that this Thomas boy fancies you.”

 

Yeah, really?  No kidding?  That was exactly the thing that she wanted to hear.  Ginny barely managed to keep her sarcastic thoughts to herself as she fled the kitchen.

 

Ron’s grumbles flowed in her wake, “It’s just Dean.  I don’t see what the big to-do is?”

 

“Hush, Ron,” Hermione quietly reprimanded.  As soon as Ginny was out of sight, she ran to her room, not wanting to hear anymore.

 

Ginny took her time getting ready.  She did her hair at least five different ways.  It would have been more if her hair wasn’t so bloody short now.  She tried on everything she owned and a few things of Hermione’s as well, which only served to accentuate to her that her hips were too wide and her thighs too thick.  Who ever said ‘athletic’ was attractive for girl?  No one, that’s who.

 

It was well after eleven and she wasn’t even close to being ready.  Maybe she’d be ready in a month or two.  Bill had knocked on the door a dozen times at least, but luckily, Ginny had magic to keep it locked.  Maybe he’d get pissed and refuse to take her.  That would be _great_!

 

Looking at herself in the blissfully muted mirror, Ginny’s hands dropped in defeat.  She looked pretty, in a summer garden party kind of way with a floral lavender-colored skirt and soft summer jumper, tiny matching clips in her softly curling hair.  Yes, she definitely looked _nice_.

 

Did she want to look nice?  Was that really the proper goal here?  She was dressed for a date, which this was _not_.  This was meeting her almost boyfriend at the hospital after a major battle to see his comatose mother.  What did one wear for that?  

 

Wouldn’t things be easier if Dean didn’t think she was attractive?  The answer was simple.  No.  That would only make Ginny miserable.  She wanted him to think she was beautiful.  She loved the way Dean looked at her and to be honest wasn’t all that sure that she _didn’t_ want to be in a relationship with him.  She definitely _would_ if it weren’t for Harry.  Shite, she was pathetic.

 

Deep breaths.  In and out.  Ginny lifted the locking spell on the door.  She was two steps out when she ran into Harry.  Literally.  As in smack.  And he didn’t move afterwards, either.  Just stood there staring at her.  

 

Ginny took several quick steps backward so she could see his face.  That carefully blank expression was back.  His hands were buried in his jean pockets.  Harry’s look was so intense that it made her tremble.  She clutched her hands together to keep them from visibly shaking.

 

She knew that her breath was coming fast and that her chest was heaving.  The way Harry was looking at her … did he fancy what he saw?  Did he want to be the one she was going to meet?  Ginny silently begged him to tell her she looked beautiful.  Pretty, even.  She wasn’t looking for a miracle.  

 

Just once she wished he would say she was pretty without Firewhiskey clouding his judgment, making him impulsive.  Maybe then she’d know what to do.  Ginny needed a sign.  If Harry told her she was looked nice she would end it with Dean, sick mother or no.  If he didn’t then … shite.  Then what?

 

After long moments of tense silence, Ginny started to get annoyed.  Couldn’t Harry ever cooperate?  She cleared her throat.  “I need to—”

 

“Oh.  Yeah, of course, um, I ….”

 

Say Ginny looked pretty.  It wasn’t that hard.   _Please_!

 

“Um, you know, give my best to Dean … for his mum, you know.”

 

Damn him!  Damn Harry Potter to hell!  Couldn’t he ever make things easy for her?  Swallowing, Ginny forced herself to smile.  So, there it was.  She had her answer.  Why did she feel like crying?

 

“Finally!”  Bill bemoaned, climbing the stairs.  “When did you get to be such a Goddamned girl?  Let’s go.”

 

Oh God.  Oh God.  Oh God.  She was going to see Dean.  She wasn’t ready.  Ginny rubbed her sweaty palms on her skirt.

 

It wasn’t a smart move.  Not in front of her brother.  Bill had an aggravatingly knowing smirk.  “Ah,” he sighed dramatically.  “Our little girl, off to see a bloke.”

 

Harry scowled at Bill, barking irritably, “She’s off to the _hospital_ where a dozen people lay half-dead.”  

 

Had a way with words, Harry did.   _Though,_ he did have a point.  “Harry’s right,” Ginny said as evenly as she could manage.  “I’m just going to give Dean some moral support because his mother is ill.”

 

Bill wagged his eyebrows.  “Just remember not to get carried away with the _moral support_ , Ginny-baby.”

 

She really hated him.  Really.  Really.

 

“Maybe,” Harry burst out, “maybe, Dean could use some extra support.  You know, from his _friends_.  I could come with you …”

 

Ginny stared at him in shock, trying to suppress hysterical laughter.  Harry come with her?  It was horrifying.  Why would he even …?  What was he up to?  Was he jealous?  Or was he playing the protective brother role?  God, she _hated_ the protective brother role.

 

“I think that might cramp her style, mate.”  Bill grinned.

 

Though not as much as the snarky brother role.

 

“He’s my dorm mate,” Harry argued heatedly.

 

Bill laughed.  “Look, Harry, it doesn’t matter.  There is no _way_ I’m taking you out of this house without Adrianna’s express permission.  And as she’s not exactly available,” Bill leered as he gestured up the stairs with a tilt of his head to Adrianna’s bedroom.  Harry growled in response.  

 

Well, Bill effectively distracted Harry.  He was so busy brooding about Adrianna and Charlie and the suspiciously blocked room that he barely paid any attention to Ginny as she slipped down the stairs with Bill.  She reckoned her going to meet Dean didn’t bother him all that much after all.

 

The next hour or so was a blur.  Before Ginny knew it, she was walking down the hallway of St. Mungo’s, minutes away from seeing Dean.  How had everything happened so fast?  She hoped she didn’t vomit.

 

“All right there, Ginny?”  Bill asked.  

 

He seemed genuinely concerned so Ginny answered somewhat honestly, “I hate hospitals.”  The last time she’d been there was when her father was bitten.  If she had her way she’d never step foot in one again, but since when did she ever get _her_ way?

 

“Don’t tell Mum that,” Bill quipped lightly.  “She’s been going on about how well you did yesterday.  I think she’s got you pegged to be a Healer.”

 

Ginny laughed out of pure shock and horror.  She’d barely kept herself from falling to pieces.  Plus, the sight of blood made her queasy.  “Sure, I’d …”   Oh shite, they were here.

 

Dean was sitting in an uncomfortable-looking hospital chair, leaning over his knees, looking at his mother with a sad, concerned face.  He looked serious and mature, very much like a man.  He’d grown up over the summer, filled out.  Though, not as much as Harry … damn it, Ginny was going to stop comparing him to Harry!  Right now.  Damn it.

 

The only other person, besides his mum, in the room was Dean’s brother, the thirteen year-old, it seemed.  The boy looked up and saw Ginny and Bill standing in the doorway.  He put a hand on his brother’s shoulder, whispering, “Dean.”

 

Dean looked up at him and his brother gestured to Ginny.  When Dean finally turned and looked at her, Ginny’s breath caught.  Oh God, what if she wasn’t what he remembered?  What if he didn’t fancy her anymore?  What if he hated her hair?

 

His face transformed into a giant smile at the sight of her.  Even with the sadness lingering in his eyes, the way Dean looked at her made Ginny’s cheeks warm and her toes tingle.  She smiled back shyly.  The way he looked at her, it was … _addicting_.

 

Dean stood to come over to her.  Oh my, she’d forgotten how tall he was, as tall as Ron at least, and so very pretty when he smiled.  “Hey, Gin,” he murmured in a tone so husky, she shivered.

 

Ginny bit her lip, trying not to hyperventilate.  “Hi.”

 

They stood there, staring at one another.  Finally, Bill chuckled.  “All right then, you two.  I’m going to have a visit with Dung.  I’ll be back in _precisely_ one hour.”  He threw an intimidating big-brother warning look at Dean.  “ _One_ hour.”  Then he retreated before Ginny could protest.

 

Oh no.  Oh God.  Ginny suppressed her panic.  She was alone with Dean.  Well, almost alone.  Mustn’t forget his brother and his unconscious mother.

 

Dean cleared his throat.  “So, how are you?”

 

“Um, all right.”  Her palms were sweating again.  “How about you?”  Dean’s smile faded and he shrugged.  He looked down at the floor and put his hands in his pockets, just like Harry had—stop!  “How’s your mum?”  Ginny asked quickly, trying to be compassionate.

 

Dean glanced over at his mother, lying so still on the bed.  The look on his face hurt Ginny’s heart.  If it were her mum, she wouldn’t be able to stand it.  She’d be huddled in the corner, not standing there calmly, looking all … put together.

 

“She’s the same,” he said thickly, swallowing.  Dean blinked rapidly and Ginny’s heart almost broke in half.

 

“Hey,” Ginny whispered, reaching out to him instinctively.  Dean came into her arms easily.  She had to stand on her toes and he was bent over almost in two in order to bury his face in her neck.  The embrace was warm and comfortable, comforting.  She ran her hand over the soft fuzz of his short hair and his broad back.  It was nice.

 

When he pulled back from her, he was smiling again.  Dean glanced nervously over his shoulder to where his little brother was sitting, staring down at a comic book.  The boy was having trouble hiding his knowing smirk.

 

Looking at Ginny shyly, Dean took her hand, lacing their fingers together.  “Do you want to take a walk?”

 

A walk?  Alone?  With Dean?  “Um, ok.  What about—?”

 

“Ricky can watch Mum.  I need to get out of here for a bit, you know.”

 

Ginny swallowed.  “Ok.”

 

He started to pull her out the door.  “Oh, wait a minute.”  He ran back to get his jacket, which seemed strange since it was a bit warm.  Smiling slightly, Dean held out his hand for her and Ginny only hesitated a moment before placing her hand back in his.

 

It was as though they were already dating.  Wasn’t that strange?  Ginny hadn’t even decided if she _wanted_ to date him.  Well, she better decide quick.  She was rapidly running out of time.

 

“You look pretty.”  Ginny’s eyes jerked to his face.  Dean was looking away from her.  “I really fancy your, um, hair.  It’s all fluffy and … it suites you.”  It looked like he may have been blushing, but it was hard to tell with his dark skin.  He was lucky, she was sure she looked a bit like an overripe tomato at the moment.

 

Ginny’s fingers flew to the bright strands, warmth filling her.  “Thanks,” she managed, hoarsely.  The tension in the air was becoming unbearably high.  Ginny bit her lip, asking, “Where are we going?”  

 

“I found this nice winter garden last night during … a midnight stroll of sorts.”  Dean smiled ironically.

 

It must have been a bad night for him.  Ginny’s thoughts went to her own awful night.  Awful, until—not going to think about that!  “Did you sleep at all?” she asked, softly.

 

Dean shrugged, not looking at her.  So, much for defusing the tension.  “So,” he said, obviously anxious to change the subject.  “I heard you were in the thick of things at Headquarters, yesterday.  Must have been pretty intense.”

 

Intense didn’t even begin to describe it.  “Yeah.  Though, not as intense as where you were …” Oh, shite, maybe she shouldn’t remind him.  Dean was avoiding eye contact again.  “I would imagine,” Ginny finished lamely.

 

“Um, hm … hey, is it true that Harry stopped He-Who-Won’t-Be-Named by Legilimency?”

 

Ginny’s eyebrows rose at the simple summation of one of the more traumatic moments of her life.  She nodded, even as she wondered why Dean had to bring up Harry.  Was Fate trying to drive her around the bend?

 

“Wow.  Reckon I owe him my life, then.  That’s just … wow, and kind of scary, you know?  It’s weird to think how powerful Harry is.  I mean, I sleep right next to him for most of the year.  He’s in a class by himself, he is.”

 

Yeah.  All by himself.

 

Ginny was feeling indescribably sad when they arrived at the garden.  It was bright and beautiful, uncomfortably at odds with her mood.  The ceiling must have been enchanted because it was hard to remember that they weren’t out in the bright sunshine.

 

“It’s pretty,” Ginny said in a strangely small voice.

 

“Yeah,” Dean said, pulling her over to a bench.  “It’s not exactly what I planned, but it will do.”

 

A small curious smile came over Ginny’s face as she sat down next to him.  “Planned?”

 

He shrugged self consciously, “It wasn’t much.  Just a bit of a romantic lunch at Diagon Alley.  That sort of thing.”  He let go of her hand and wiped his palms on his jeans.  Somehow, the gesture was calming for Ginny.  It was good to know she wasn’t the only nervous one.

 

“That would have been nice,” she said, with just a touch of longing.  It would have been _awfully_ nice.  Just like Ginny had imagined it, that long lonely month at the Burrow.  Dean nodded dejectedly.  “But this is nice as well.”

 

Her reassurances were rewarded with a bright smile and Ginny returned it.  After a minute his smile faded again and Dean leaned over his knees, staring out.  Poor bloke, he was trying so hard to be cheerful.  

 

“Do you want to talk about your mum?” she asked quietly.  Dean shook his head, not looking at her.

 

“I can—”

 

“Ginny,” he interrupted, looking up at her pleadingly.  “If I talk about it I’ll … I’d like to maintain my manly image for you, if you don’t mind.”  He gave her a small self-deprecating smile.

 

Her heart was breaking for him.  Ginny just wanted to help.  “But, I won’t—”

 

He put a hand on her knee, making Ginny stiffen a bit, though it did feel good.  “For my poor manly pride, then?”

 

Dean looked so sweet and earnest.  Ginny gnawed on her lip.  “Ok.”

 

He cleared his throat again, looking even more nervous.  “I, um … I got you a birthday gift.”  Dean reached into the pocket of the coat.  “I know it’s a bit late, but I wanted to give it to you in person.”  So, that’s why he brought the jacket.

 

He handed her a small square box.  A jewelry box.  Ginny’s heart rate increased as she looked down at the prettily wrapped gift and up into Dean’s sweet hopeful expression.  Oh dear God.  She took it carefully, swallowing compulsively around the lump in her throat.

 

Ginny took her time with the wrapping, but to be fair her hand was trembling so badly it was a bit hard to manage.  When she finally got it open … oh dear, oh my.

 

It was a perfect, gold, heart-shaped charm on a delicate gold chain.  The perfect present for a girlfriend, finer than anything Ginny had ever owned.  Sweet and delicate and perfect.  Her eyes filled with tears.  “It’s too much.”  She looked up at him, but he was smiling shyly.  “I mean, Dean, the cost—”

 

“Oh, that.  It’s no big deal.  I get paid to work at the store.  Even so, I couldn’t afford a proper engraving, just the ‘G. ’”

 

Dean reached over and pointed to the delicate and curvy letter engraved on the back.  His finger brushed her hand and she felt a flash of a different kind of warm.  A boy-girl warmth.

 

“It’s beautiful,” Ginny said genuinely, putting her hand over Dean’s.  Part of her felt she shouldn’t accept the gift.  But, oh she wanted it _so_ much.  She wanted to be the kind of girl who wore a necklace like this.  The kind of girl who was cherished by someone.  “Thank you.”

 

That bright smile was back on his face, as he leaned … oh God, Dean was going to kiss her.  Ginny was so surprised that she had to tell herself to respond.  It was pretty stupid to be surprised.  Of course, he would want a snog after a gift like that.  Must be the whole summer of _not_ being kissed by Harry that had taken her off her game.

 

Dean really was an excellent kisser.  Actually, thinking about it, she couldn’t find a single thing wrong with him.  Other than he wasn’t Harry—shut up!  Shut up!  Shut up!  Ginny cupped his cheek and deepened the kiss in order to get the troublesome thoughts out of her mind.  It worked.  Mostly.

 

When Dean pulled away, he ran a finger softly down her cheek and gazed at her adoringly, licking his beautiful full lips.  “So, Ginny Weasley,” he asked huskily, “will you be my girlfriend?  Officially?”

 

Shite!  No!  It was too soon.  Ginny didn’t know.  What about … oh God, how could she possibly say no?  Dean was looking at her so hopefully and he was so sweet and _perfect_.  Why _would_ she say no?

 

Why did Ginny feel like she was betraying Harry?  Why did she feel so guilty?  Harry couldn’t even tell her she looked nice.  He didn’t want her.

 

Still, she had the urge to break Dean’s heart, while his mother was lying comatose in a hospital bed.  What kind of person would that make her?  Michael Corner.  That’s what it would make her, just as bad as the boy who had chucked her while Ron was recovering in the infirmary after the Department of Mysteries.  Only this would be worse, because they had known Ron would wake up.

 

Ginny put on a bright smile.  “Of course.”

 

Those tears in her eyes.  They were happy tears.  Honest.

  
  
  


* * * * *

  
   
  


All in all Ron’s day had been absolute rubbish.

 

It started off wretched, right from the beginning, at three bloody am in the morning when Ron had woken from a hellish nightmare.  Things looked up briefly when he’d woken up to find Hermione there to distract him.  But instead of _distracting_ him the way he wanted, she had to talk about things he did _not_ want to hear about, first telling him that Harry was keeping secrets and then rubbing a raw wound by continually reminding him they were days away from going back to school.  

 

Hermione wouldn’t even tell him what the secrets were.  Just went on about Harry having to tell him later.  Well then, why the hell couldn’t she wait until later?  Was it any wonder that Ron never did fall back asleep?

 

And school.  Did she have to bring up school?  Over and _over_.  September first was approaching at a frightening speed and Ron had never dreaded it more.  How the hell were they going to be able to Practice at Hogwarts?  

 

Did Ron even _want_ to practice at Hogwarts?  How was that fair to Hermione?  Or him for that matter?  He was getting pretty invested here.  It wasn’t a game.  He knew he was going to get hurt and he had put off thinking about it all summer.  But once they were back … the thought made him nauseated.

 

Shite.  Shite.  Shite.  So, putting off thinking about it.  Good plan.  Where was he?  Right, no sleep for Ron.  Nope, not one bit.

 

His lovely sleepless night was followed up by a _fabulous_ day of Harry insisting that they wait for Ginny to come back from her wholly inappropriate date with Dean Thomas to tell _their_ secrets.  Date to the _hospital_ , which, by the way, lasted all damn day.  

 

With every minute that passed, Harry became more irritable, rapidly sinking into his brooding best.  The longer they waited without talking about the “secret,” the testier Hermione became.  And Ron, well, he couldn’t get in a worse mood than he’d woken up with.  Oh wait, he hadn’t woken up.  He hadn’t slept.

 

Finally, around mid-afternoon, Hermione had succeeded in badgering Harry into telling him one of the secrets.  The only secret that had nothing to do with Ginny.  And it was one _hell_ of a secret.  The Prophecy.  And to top it all off there were more, possibly worse, secrets that Ron didn’t even know about.  Quite the way to top off the afternoon.  Damn prophecy.  

 

To tell the truth, Ron was a bit hurt that it took Harry so long to tell him.  And feeling that way, it made him feel like a Goddamned girl.  A right poof.  Oh boo hoo, Harry won’t talk to him.  

 

But this wasn’t ruddy girly feelings shite that Harry _wasn’t_ talking about.  It was right important information.  Life and _death_ information that he kept from them for months.  Months.  Harry knows how it feels to be kept in the dark and now he goes and pulls this?  What the fuck was wrong with him?

 

The thing was, it made Ron feel like Harry didn’t trust him.  Logically, he knew that was complete bullocks.  Harry was just being Harry and the Sirius thing had him right mental when he had first heard the prophecy.  

 

Still, Ron wished Harry hadn’t told Hermione first.  That stung.  Sure, Hermione’s better at the feelings stuff, but Ron was the best mate as well.  He could do feelings stuff.  If he had to.  He wasn’t a _complete_ git.

 

But maybe Ron was just obsessing with that so that he didn’t have to deal with the weight of the prophecy itself, and now knowing that Voldemort _had_ to kill Harry.  It wasn’t just, say, a hobby for him.  Or even blood vengeance.  Voldemort _had_ to kill Harry to survive.  It chilled the blood, it did.

 

Hermione seemed more upset about the idea that Harry would have to kill, than the part about him being targeted.  At first Ron, had thought her right daft.  Then he realized she was just trying to be optimistic about Harry winning and that she was, well, really naive.  Which was sweet, really.  He liked her that way, innocent, pure, naive.  He wanted her to stay that way.  Well, at least in so much as he hadn’t all ready defiled her.

 

Ron on the other hand, had realized yesterday, with Dolohov, that this wasn’t going to end without them getting blood on their hands.  Harry and himself, that was.  Hermione’s hands needed to stay soft and clean and pristine as always.  Well, except for all those ink stains.  

 

But this was _war_ , right?  He and Harry needed to be prepared.  Ron knew without a doubt that if Dolohov hadn’t been unconscious, if it had been a battle situation, he would have been playing for keeps.  Ron would have killed a man.  The idea left him feeling a strange combination of strength and queasiness.

 

Ron wasn’t even sure he was going to be able to eat the dinner he had been waiting a ridiculously long time for.  His mother had called them for dinner, then made them wait.  And wait.  And wait.  First for the twins, then Tonks and Kingsley, and finally Ginny and Bill.  By the time the last two got back from St.  Mungo’s, Ron wanted to scream.  

 

If Mrs. Weasley even _suggested_ they wait for Adrianna and Charlie, he was planning a revolt.  Who the hell knew when those two were going to emerge?  Sixteen hours had come and went.  Whatever was going on up there, Ron was of the opinion that it should bloody well be left alone.

 

When Ginny stepped out of the fireplace and cleaned herself off, the first thing Ron noticed about his sister was a suspiciously shinny object around her neck.  “What’s that?”  he accused, finally finding a release for his irritability.  He earned a glare from Hermione, but didn’t care.

 

Ginny tilted her head defiantly and declared regally, “This is my birthday present from Dean.”

 

Well, wasn’t that just great, Ron thought bitterly.  

 

Hermione seemed to think so, squealing, “Oh!  Let me see.”  She ran over and lifted the silly charm in an almost reverent manner.  “Oh, it’s _so_ beautiful.”

 

The longing in Hermione’s face made Ron’s heart clench.  He’d have to get her something really good for her birthday this year.  Put some real thought into it, get some bit of pretty, girly nonsense.   _He_ wanted to be the one that caused that look in her eyes.

 

“It’s very pretty, dear,” Mrs. Weasley said, in her “my children are all grown up, I might start to cry at any moment” tone.  Ron suppressed the urge to roll his eyes.

 

“So, Ginny, what did Dean get in return,” Fred joked, then cried out, “ow!”  as he received a loud and uncharacteristically hard whack on the head from his father.

 

Bill chuckled as he lounged in a kitchen chair.  “I think it’s a right appropriate gift from our Ginny’s boyfriend.  I would expect nothing less.”

 

Boyfriend it was then.  Well, Ginny wasn’t contradicting Bill and blushed cherry red, as well, so it must be true.  Why did that make Ron’s stomach hurt with something suspiciously like envy?  He looked away.

 

That’s when Ron noticed Harry move very purposefully to sit a good distance away from Ginny.  A storm-cloud as bad as he’d ever seen had settled on Harry’s face.  The foul mood and moping Ron could easily write off as typical guilt ridden, post-battle Harry shite.  Blah blah.  But why would he move away from Ginny?

 

Harry couldn’t be jealous of Dean, could he?  Ron smiled for the first time that day.  That would be, well, brilliant.  Dean was a stand-up bloke and all.  Nice enough.  Certainly better than Michael Corner.  At least Dean was a Gryffindor.  The problem was this was Ginny and she needed _more_.

 

Ron took a heaping portion of the potatoes as they were passed around.  If Harry fancied Ginny … wouldn’t that be interesting.  Suddenly, the food was looking all the more appetizing.

 

“Hey, ‘Drana, are you—?”

 

Ron looked up at Harry’s inquiry and saw Adrianna step off the stairs looking even more exhausted than she had last night.  At least, her hair was washed and pulled back.  That bedlam escapee look she was sporting yesterday didn’t suit her.

 

“Fine.  Hello, everyone,” she muttered, barely sparing a smile as she sat between Hermione and Tonks.

 

Ron had thought she’d be well rested after all that time in her bedroom.  But, _now_ who was the one being naïve?  He chuckled to himself.  Ron really hoped that this meant Charlie and Adrianna were together again.  They could really use some good news.

 

“So,” George started with a broad enthusiastic grin.  “Where’s Charlie?”

 

“Probably too worn out to get out of bed,” his twin snickered.

 

“Bet he can’t even stand …” Fred trailed off with a frown at the stricken, panicked look on Adrianna’s face.  For the first time, Ron noticed that her eyes were red and puffy.  God, what had happened now?

 

The room went deadly silent as Adrianna turned and met Molly’s eyes.  “He didn’t say goodbye?” she asked desperately, her voice was raw and hoarse, making Mrs. Weasley’s face fall.  “Goddamn it!  Damn _Charlie_.”  Adrianna’s shook her head as her expression turned to one of anger.

 

Ron looked around the table just to make sure everyone else was as shocked by the turn of events as he was.  The silent gaping looks showed him they were.

 

Adrianna pressed her palms to her temples.  “I didn’t tell him _not_ to say goodbye.  It’s not my fault,” she told Molly defensively.

 

But all Ron’s mother could do was gasp.  “Gone?  Where?”

 

Adrianna’s face melted into misery and she closed her eyes tightly as tears started to leak out.  Harry stood, then froze, not seeming to know what to do.  Tonks and Hermione tried to comfort her.

 

“Did he go back to Romania?” Hermione asked softly, clearly trying to be helpful.  Adrianna nodded without opening her eyes, seemingly trying to pull herself back together.  What the fuck did Charlie do?

 

“Hello all, sorry I’m …” The eerily silent crowd turned to look at Remus as he descended the stairs, taking off and shaking his wet hat.  “What’s going on here?”  he asked warily.

 

“Is it raining?”  Ron’s eyes jerked back to Adrianna at her somewhat hysterical outburst.  When no one answered her bizarre question she stood, repeating, louder, “Is it _raining_?”

 

Remus looked her over carefully, saying in an apprehensive voice, as if he were answering a crazy person, which clearly he was, “Well, yes.”

 

“How bad?” Adrianna demanded.  “Is anyone dead?”

 

Dead?  From what?  The rain?  Ok, this was really going too far.  She had gone completely around the bend.  Isn’t that what Hermione said happened to Empaths?

 

Evidently, Remus agreed with Ron.  “Dead?  Adrianna, I’m not sure I understand—”

 

“’Dran,” Bill rushed to reassure.  “It’s London, it’s always raining here.”

 

“How _hard_ is it raining?”  

 

“It’s a simple spring shower, dear,” Mr. Weasley joined in, worried.  He stood, probably wondering if they were going to have to cart her off.

 

Adrianna looked around at them, growing more panicked by the second.  Abruptly, she darted for the stairs.  Hermione lunged after her, calling, “Wait.”  But crazy people are fast, it seems, because she was up the stairs before anyone could stop her.

 

When Hermione, Harry, and Ginny followed, Ron figured he couldn’t stay behind even though a large part of him wanted to.  Most of the kitchen rushed behind the mad witch and out into the steady soft summer rain.  Ron couldn’t help but think it felt wonderful as he realized that this was the first time he had been outside in weeks.

 

Adrianna walked out into the middle of the street as if in a daze.  Hermione started to go after her, but Tonks held her back, seeming to know that crazy witches were better kept at a distance.  Ron hoped she wasn’t dangerous.

 

Adrianna lifted her face to the steady rain and turned in a circle in the middle of the filthy street.  She let out a laugh that turned into a sob, then covered her face as the sobs really started to shake her body.  Bill pushed through the crowd and pulled her to his chest just as the sobs intensified to the point where it looked like she was going to collapse.

 

Bill rested his cheek on her wet head and Ron noticed he had a hard angry edge to his eyes.  Harry looked lost and sad, unable to move.  Ginny seemed as though she was about to cry herself and even the twins couldn’t find humor in the situation.  Hermione turned and looked at Ron with a strange intense desperation.  He didn’t understand what she wanted.

 

Ron was so confused by the whole barmy mess and he was bloody sick of the whole world going to shite.  But somehow, the rain helped.  Maybe that was why the whole crowd of them stood there until they were all soaked to the bone.  

  
  
  


* * * * *

 

  
  


Author’s Note:

 

I’d like to say, for the record, that I _am_ a Harry/Ginny shipper, but the path to true love and all that.  I hope you can enjoy the journey, painful as it may be.

 

For those interested in exactly what happened in that blocked room to make Charlie leave without saying goodbye, please read my outtake.  It is called _Following Desperation_.  


	36. From the Ashes

Harry kept his eyes trained on Bill as he embraced Adrianna. The soft rain slowly soaked through his clothes and clouded his glasses. He wished it would just pour. The gentle trickle was maddening. A punishing downpour would be so much more satisfying.

 

Maybe then the rain would wash away the horrible hatred corroding his insides. Hatred at Bill for being a man and doing what Harry _should_ have done. Hatred at himself for freezing up like a little ponce and not being capable of giving Adrianna what she so clearly needed. But he didn’t, _couldn’t,_ hate anyone as much as he hated that bloody wanker.

 

Watching the crumpled, dejected woman, who resembled nothing of the cousin he knew, Harry wished he had beaten fucking Charlie Weasley the day he had Apparated into Grimmauld Place and forced him to leave them all bloody well alone.  Or something like that.

 

Harry didn’t care if he got walloped in the process. Who cared if Charlie was twice as wide as him? Harry had been training. He was stronger than he looked.  Mostly. He just wished Charlie were here right now. Then Harry could do something about it, _anything_ but stand here in the rain like an impotent git.

 

Adrianna finally pulled away from Bill, turning abruptly and swiping the tears from her cheeks, a gesture altogether useless, given the way her wet hair kept sending droplets cascading over her forehead and down her face.

 

Move, bloody idiot. Now was his chance. Say something. Damn it. Stepping forward, Harry called, “Adrianna—”

 

She tensed and put her hands up in a defensive posture, keeping her eyes firmly away from him. “Fine. I’m _fine_ ,” Adrianna said quickly, answering the unasked question. “I’m _going_ to ... I’ll be fine in the morning.  The morning.”

 

Her repeated reassurances were far from reassuring, but she didn’t leave Harry, or anyone else, room to question. Adrianna simply cringed away from the comforting hands that reached for her, quickly pushing through the group and disappearing into the house.

 

Harry closed his eyes and clenched his jaw. Taking off his glasses, he turned his face up to the rain. Again, he wished it would come down harder. He wanted to feel it pound his cheeks. His muscles were tense with the need to hit something, someone. But the person he most wanted to hit wasn’t there.  

 

As he made his way sullenly back into the house, Harry found some small measure of comfort in the gratifying image of his fist colliding with Charlie the Wanker’s jaw. Later, in the ballroom, as he pounded the enchanted practice pad they used to train in hand-to-hand combat, Harry found that envisioning the hard bag in front of him was Dean Thomas was also immensely satisfying.

 

After a while the imaginary person Harry was pummeling spent less and less time as Charlie Weasley and more time as Dean Thomas. The fact that Dean had done absolutely nothing to deserve the beating only made Harry punch harder. He refused to think about what _that_ meant.

 

His muscles eventually developed a wonderful cleansing burn and sweat dripped into Harry’s eyes. His shirt clung to him uncomfortably, and he was overly hot and thirsty, but his blows didn’t lessen. The worse the discomfort, the more blessedly clear his mind became.

 

“Harry.”

 

Fuck. Harry spun, his fists up and ready to swing, only to see Ginny standing next to him, disturbingly close. Shite, he could have hit her. He almost _did_ hit her. She winced slightly, just enough to show that she, too, recognized that Harry was so far gone that he nearly swung at her without thinking.

 

It made him feel like a complete arse … and angrier than ever. “Ginny, what the hell? You can’t just go sneaking up on a bloke like that.”

 

Ginny’s jaw hardened and she drew herself up, looking at him evenly. “I called your name. Four times, in fact.”

 

Harry’s eyes narrowed and he crossed his arms protectively over his chest. Feeling his muscles burn, he frowned at her. Ginny had on too small pajamas that pulled tight over her absurdly full chest. Her wet hair was pulled back into a ponytail, but as it was _too_ short, small bits escaped everywhere, drying in curls around her face. She looked fucking beautiful. God damn it.

 

He cursed himself for only noticing now, when it was too late. He cursed her for not _making_ him notice sooner, for being so damn appealing, for choosing bloody Dean Thomas instead of him. Then his eyes dropped to the heart-shaped charm around her neck. Harry wanted to tear the wretched thing off and shove it down Dean’s throat for the simple crime of existing.

 

 _Why_ was she here? Harry was so clearly not fit for human companionship at the moment. “What are you doing here, Ginny?” he asked hostilely, though he recognized weariness in his voice as well. Why was life so hard?

 

Ginny took a deep, shaky breath, sucking her lower lip into her mouth and stepping closer. A look of wild-desperation was in her eyes. Harry’s heart rate increased, and he tensed still further. He forced himself to stand still and not give into the urge to shrink away from her as she entered his space in what seemed to be an almost predatory manner.

 

Why was Ginny doing this? Harry could almost swear there was ... _want_ in her eyes. What was she playing at? She had a ruddy boyfriend. Why was she doing this to him now? Why did she have to bring Dean Thomas into their lives just when Harry was just beginning to realize he fancied her?

 

But would Harry have even realized that without Dean? Would he have even fancied her? Maybe it was just a delusion of a jealous mind not wanting to lose one more person in his life to romance. Yes, that must be it. God, she smelled like peaches.

 

Ginny met his gaze, whispering in a low scratchy voice, “Harry …” Then she seemed to lose her nerve and turned her head away. She was still so close. Harry’s eyes fell on the nape of her neck.

 

Of all the things Harry remembered from the surreal haze of pleasure that was Ginny’s birthday party, he remembered the small patch of skin at the edge of her hairline the best. He could still feel it under his lips. He felt a wash of possessiveness. Had Dean touched her _there_? He couldn’t. That spot was Harry’s. Dean might have the rest of her, but that spot was _his_.

 

“Harry,” she tried again, raising her head to look at him, her honey-brown eyes intense, almost pleading, as though she were drowning and didn’t know how to ask to be saved. Or maybe Harry was the one who was drowning. Ginny took a deep breath before whispering, “We’ll need to tell about the watch in the morning.”

 

Harry took a sharp breath, even as he realized the irony of the situation. How many times had one of them uttered that phrase? And, yet, this time it was unavoidable, inevitable even. It was all over now. Everything he had with Ginny was crumbling. A vile taste filled his mouth. Damn bloody watch. It was that thing’s fault he was having these feelings for Ginny. He wished he had never found it.

 

“Yeah,” Harry muttered. “Well, Ron and Hermione know we have something to tell them anyway. I told them that much.”

 

Ginny flinched, a brief flicker of betrayal flashing in her eyes. Harry was glad. He wished he had told Ron and Hermione everything. Ginny didn’t deserve to be waited for, not after she had disappeared all day with Dean.

 

Her eyes became glued to his chest, where his hands flexed reflectively as they curled around his biceps. “Harry … your hands are bleeding,” Ginny said in a small voice.

 

Harry looked down at the offending hands. So they were. He hadn’t noticed that his knuckles were raw from hitting the rough material that covered the training bags. He shrugged, not really caring, and, again, fixed his gaze on Ginny. Somehow, he didn’t think she was there to tend to his self-inflicted wounds.

 

Suddenly, her small hand reached out, prying one of his hands free before he could stop her. His breath hitched as Ginny rubbed a smooth thumb over a small bit of intact skin, sending a shiver through him. Harry wished she’d touch the raw part instead. The pain would be easier to deal with.

 

“I could heal this,” Ginny whispered, his eyes on the hand. “Mum taught me.”

 

“It's fine,” Harry snapped, a bit too harshly. Though, apparently he couldn’t force himself to pull away.

 

Ginny’s hand dropped, her eyes snapping back up to his. Her gaze was now hard and determined, although just as desperate. “I want to touch the watch one more time. Tonight,” she whispered in a rush. “Please, Harry. I just want to feel it _one_ more time.”

 

Harry stared into her eyes, shocked. The thought had never crossed his mind. It was insanity, to touch that watch again, _without_ telling the others. It was completely irresponsible. Yet … he’d never seen Ginny plead like this, let herself be so vulnerable. He saw, in her, the same confusing emotions that were driving him mad, the same need and sense of loss.

 

The connection they shared through that watch was unlike anything Harry had ever experienced. To never feel it again, it was almost unbearable. But maybe all Ginny cared about was the pleasure. Didn’t she realize how _intimate_ it was? Was it a game to her? Anger that had momentarily faded flared again with new force.

 

“What would your boyfriend think?” Harry barked, then cursing himself for being so transparent.

 

Ginny blinked up at him, seeming to be thrown by his question. She stepped back. Then it almost appeared as though she would a smile, but instead she said evenly, “I don’t see how it’s any of his business.”

 

Harry felt an irrational flare of triumph, of possession. This was a piece of Ginny that was his alone. Suddenly, he snapped, “Fine,” and grabbed her hand, roughly pulling her from the ballroom. He couldn’t even bear to look at her. If he did, he’d surely change his mind.

 

But once they reached the stairs, Ginny moved in front of him and Harry held back just a bit, watching the way her ponytail swung, revealing the nape of her neck with each step. It was hypnotizing. _Mine_. Shite.

 

In her room, Ginny pulled out an old tee-shirt that was twice her size. It must have belonged to one of her brothers. She held it out to him and it took Harry a full minute before he realized why she was giving it to him. Removing his glasses, he mopped the sweat from his face with the shirt he had on before pulling it over his head.

 

Ginny quickly averted her eyes and put up an Imperturbable. Harry didn’t understand why they needed the spell now, when they had never used it before. But it didn’t matter, because when he placed his glasses back on, he saw she was blushing and this provoked Harry to take his time pulling on his new shirt. He was such a bloody prick.

 

Almost shyly, Ginny put down her wand and approached him with her hand outstretched, the watch cradled in her palm. Without thought, Harry reached over and took her hand, touching the watch with his thumb. Too late, he realized that he should have, at least, sat down first.

 

Desperate pleasure coursed through him, more intense and painful than before, feeling suspiciously like desire. Ginny gasped and fell against him. Harry automatically wound his free arm around her, steadying her. Only then did he realize … shite, that was his erection pressed against her hip.

 

They could have danced around it before, excused it, but there was no denying it now. Whatever they were doing with this watch, whatever its magic was, it was, at its very nature sensual, sexual. Shite.

 

As the glow faded, Harry dropped his arms as though they had been burned. He stumbled over to Hermione’s bed and bent over, trying to gain control of himself. Deep breaths. Think of her with Dean. That helped. Not his mood, but his condition anyway.

 

“Harry,” Ginny called, apparently determined to rip him to pieces. Harry’s eyes were drawn to her voice. She was kneeling in the center of her bed, looking much like she did that night with the Firewhiskey, flushed and breathless.

 

Ginny swallowed. “Since, you know, this may be _dangerous_ don’t you think it would be better if you slept in my bed.  With me?”

 

He almost laughed. Didn’t she realize how dangerous _that_ was? Harry’s eyes fell on her heaving chest, drawn to her glittering necklace. “Should you really be sleeping with your jewelry?” he asked instead of answering her.

 

Ginny’s hand flew to her neck and Harry was dumbfounded, watching her hand quickly work the clasp. The victory Harry felt was worth any humiliation he may have suffered at being so transparent.

 

Against his better judgment, Harry climbed into Ginny’s bed. Hell, did he even have any judgment left? The hole of stupidity he had been digging all summer was now gaping and bottomless. What was one more thing?

 

Harry lay down, leaving a good distance between him and Ginny. That didn’t last long before Ginny scooted over and laid her head on his shoulder. He tensed and looked down at her, but she refused to meet his eyes. Was she trying to torture him?

 

Was this how girls with boyfriends acted? Or did Ginny just think of Harry as a brother? Was he the only one feeling the sexual tension? Was he seeing things that weren’t there? He had wretched past experience, whereas she was practically an expert at relationships.

 

Harry should push her away. He should get the hell out of this bed before the whole situation got even worse. But his hand curled around the back of Ginny’s neck and he felt himself relax as he allowed the watch to pull him under.

  


 

 

* * * * *

 

 

  


Ron didn’t know how long he stood outside in the pouring rain. He didn’t remember feeling wet or cold. He didn’t notice the first person go inside or realize he had sat down on the curb, further soaking his trousers.

 

He just remembered how he had looked up to find Hermione staring at him with that same intensity he had noticed from her when they’d first come inside. Then, as his father put an arm around her shoulders and escorted her inside, Ron wondered how long she had been looking at him, and if she had been waiting for him to look back.

 

He realized Bill and Adrianna had gone inside as well, as had Harry and Ginny. Wordlessly, Ron followed Hermione and the rest of his family into the house, not because he wanted to, but because … well, just because.

 

Somehow, Ron lost Hermione as soon as he stepped into the foyer. Vaguely, he wondered how he’d managed that, even as he distractedly climbed the stairs and entered his bedroom. He felt strangely numb, as though he were walking in a dream.

 

Methodically, Ron changed out of his wet clothes and dried himself off. As he was pulling on his pajamas, he finally began to feel again, the dampness of his hair, the chill on his skin, the gurgling in his stomach, reminding him that he had never actually eaten dinner.

    

After making his way down to the basement kitchen, Ron found that apparently he was the only one still hungry. Though, he wasn’t sure why this surprised him. But maybe he was less surprised, than dismayed by the eerie scene. All the food and utensils were exactly as they were left, as if the entire family had disappeared with a poof, mid-meal.

 

Sitting, Ron struggled to eat. He never ate in silence like this. There were always other people around. He even missed Dobby, who had gone back to Hogwarts to prepare for school opening. School opening. The thought made Ron’s stomach churn, his unease increasing. He pushed himself back, away from his meal, feeling a mounting sense of dread.

 

Ron had four weeks of respite this summer, holed away, enjoying Hermione and his friends. That was over now. This was his _real_ life. And eleven days from now he would go back to school and …

 

Seized with a restless energy, Ron suddenly couldn’t stand the sight of the untidy room, which was strange since he was not one to be bothered by a mess. Hastily, he began clearing the table with a clumsy mix of magic and brute force. But what about everyone else? Surely, they would get hungry and eventually want dinner.

 

Before Ron had time to think about what he was doing, he had produced two-dozen roast beef sandwiches and the kitchen had been scrubbed clean. When Ron noticed that he was no longer hungry, he concluded he must have been eating while he worked, though he had only a vague memory of doing so. Was he going round the twist? It certainly seemed to be the thing to do in this place.

 

Finally, there was nothing left to do and still not a soul had entered the jarringly quiet room. Looking to be reassured that he wasn’t the only person left on the planet, Ron wandered up the stairs and easily found Harry in the ballroom, pounding a levitated bag that they used during their morning trainings sessions. How many days had it been since they’d had one? It seemed like forever. It was the endless summer that Ron wished would never end.

 

Harry had a look on his face that … well, it was clear that it wasn’t the time to disturb him, so Ron went in search of Hermione. He had checked most of the house and was beginning to get worried when he wandered back into his own room and found her tucked into the corner, sitting on a windowsill, partially obscured by his massive bed. The silence was only broken by the rain pounding on the windowpane.

 

“That’s an enchanted window,” Ron called out softly. “It doesn’t _have_ to be raining.”

 

“I like it,” Hermione murmured without looking at him.

 

Her voice held a strange otherworldly quality. When Ron stepped closer and the shadows were no longer obscuring his view, he found her dripping wet, from head to toe. “Blo—Blimey, Hermione, you’re soaked to the skin. Why haven’t you changed?

 

Her only answer was a barely perceptible shrug.

 

“You’ve been sitting here for hours.” Ron meant it as a question, but it came out as an accusation. Hermione didn’t seem to register his tone, though. She merely shrugged again.

 

Ron began to get worried. That sense of dread he was harboring doubled, then doubled again, as he stared at her wet and distant form. Hermione seemed _defeated_ , not at all the girl he knew.

 

“Hermione, what’s going on?” Ron asked, but she didn’t answer. “ _Hermione_ , I’m starting to worry here. You’re acting as barmy as Adrianna.” Oh God, she wasn’t going to go as crazy as Adrianna, was she? Was it contagious?

 

Finally, Hermione said softly, “Adrianna isn’t crazy.”

 

Really? Ron would beg to differ and he had quite a bit of evidence to back him up. Though, he didn’t think now was the best time to argue with her. “Hermione—”

 

“She’s not,” Hermione insisted, finally turning to look at him.

 

“Ok, she’s not,” Ron placated, holding his hands up in surrender. It was never smart to contradict a crazy person. The intensity of Hermione’s gaze and the wild expression on her face, surrounded by sodden curls, made Ron still more wary and he fought the urge step back. Instead, he carefully took a step closer, as though he were approaching a wild animal.

 

Hermione looked him over. “You don’t believe me,” she stated despondently, looking back out the window to gaze at the invented rain. “But it’s true. She’s not crazy. She’s … desperate and … sad and …” She paused for a good long moment before finishing quietly, “In love.”

 

Oh God. Not the “in love” thing again. There was nothing more frightening, nothing Ron knew less about. Why did Hermione have to bring it up _now_?

 

“ _That’s_ what being in love looks like?” he joked, ineptly, his words sounding ridiculous to his own ears. “It looks right unpleasant.”

 

But Hermione just agreed, saying sadly, “Yes, it does.”

 

Ron swallowed, asking, “How can you be sure? That they’re in love, I mean.” Why was he even asking? Couldn’t he just let it drop?

 

“I just am.” Droplets of water trickled over Hermione’s forehead and made a slow trek down the windowpane.

 

There was an impulse inside Ron telling him to press, to keep asking _how_ Hermione understood so much about love. But his good sense won out, for once, and instead, Ron asked with a wry smile, “How do know she’s not just crazy?”

 

“I know,” Hermione said firmly, in the same cool monotone.

 

Well, then love drove a person around the bend, because there was one thing Ron was sure of, Adrianna’s behavior tonight was _not_ that of a sane person. And Hermione wasn’t acting much better. He needed to get her out of that window.

 

“Charlie left her.”

 

Ron froze, mid-step, as he approached her, and tried to make sense of the giant leap she had just made in the conversation. Adrianna went crazy because Charlie left? Is that what she was trying to say? He could relate to that. If Hermione ever left him …

 

“Are you sure that’s what happened?” Ron argued, somehow feeling that contradicting her would erase all the uncomfortable and confusing feelings that her words elicited in him. “Maybe Adrianna asked Charlie to leave.”

 

Hermione shrugged, not looking at him. “Maybe. It doesn’t matter. He left.”

 

Ron blinked at her. That made absolutely _no_ sense. As he took a step closer, the fake moonlight illuminated Hermione’s pale skin and he saw it was littered with goose bumps. Frowning, he said softly, “Love, you’re shivering.”

 

“You just never know,” Hermione whispered without acknowledging his words.

 

His worry was starting to turn into a bit of a panic. “Never know what, love?” Ron asked in a placating tone, barely paying attention. Hermione wasn’t going to dry off, was she? So, why the hell was he standing there like some great lump? “You’re freezing. Why don’t you change?” he suggested.

 

Hermione didn’t move, but what did he expect? Ron began scanning the room for the towels he had carelessly discarded earlier, after drying himself off.

 

“You never know what’s going to happen,” Hermione stated evenly, answering the unimportant part of his question. “You can think everything through and plan it all out. You can decide to be patient and go slowly. It _seems_ like the right thing to do.” Or maybe she was answering a question known only to her. Mental. “But you need time, and then, suddenly, there’s no time left.”

 

“Um … ok.”

 

“And the people around you are changing.  And leaving.  And …”

 

Going crazy? Ron preformed a drying spell on a towel he had retrieved from the floor, all the while praying Hermione would be back to normal once she was warm and rested.

 

“And dying.”

 

Ron’s eyes jerked up as she finished. Taking a deep, shaky breath, he managed to keep his voice somewhat calm as he said, “No one’s dying, sweet.” Not today, anyway. He had to bite his lip to still the flood of emotion as he wrapped the towel around Hermione’s head and began to pat down her long hair.

 

Finally, she turned her bright eyes to him. “But they _could_ be,” Hermione insisted, her voice chilling.

 

“But they _didn’t_ ,” he stated firmly. Not wanting to talk about this, Ron vigorously rubbed her arms with the towel. Her shivering hadn’t lessened.

 

“We’re running out of time.” Hermione’s voice quivered and Ron wasn’t sure if it was from the cold or something else.

 

“There’s plenty of time. All the time in the world,” Ron replied, but as he had no idea what she was talking about, he could very well be lying to her. His efforts to warm her weren’t yielding much in the way of results. It was no use, not while she was still covered in the wet clothing. “You need to get out of these clothes, Hermione.”

 

“I bet Adrianna thought that she had all the time in the world.  Once.” Hermione’s eyes seemed stuck to the window pane.

 

Ok, so she wasn’t going to change herself. Ron pushed away the perverted thoughts that flashed through his mind as he realized what he was going to have to do. “Adrianna still has time,” he answered reasonably, trying to keep up with her crazy train of thoughts as he resolutely riffled through his drawer, looking for a tee-shirt. “She still has time.” If Adrianna didn’t wind up in bedlam, that was.

 

Shaking her head slowly, Hermione said in a distant voice, “No. Everything went so wrong. They love each other _so_ much.”

 

Shite. Why was she so focused on this? What was it about Adrianna and Charlie’s fucked up love life that made Hermione … crap, why was she making him think about this? “Maybe, they aren’t in love at all. You don’t know for certain.”

 

“Yes, I do. They are.” This was getting repetitive. As Ron turned and approached her again, Hermione jerked her head up and met his eyes abruptly. He opened his mouth to argue, but …

 

God damn her. Why was Hermione always right? So, what if Adrianna and Charlie were in love? Why did that bother her so much? Why did it bother _him_ so much? This whole blasted conversation was making Ron increasingly uncomfortable.

 

“We need to get this off of you,” Ron muttered in a rough, scratchy voice, gesturing to her clothing clumsily.

 

Instead of moving to change, Hermione shifted slightly and lifted her arms in blatant invitation, all the while saying, “What went so wrong?”

 

“I dunno, love.”

 

When was she going to lay off this? Swallowing, he tried not to notice the way her wet shirt clung to her, leaving nothing to the imagination. Ron clutched the hem and peeled it off her. He wasn’t sure why he was so hesitant, he’d done this before and this time it wasn’t even sexual.

 

Yeah right, it wasn’t sexual. Tell that to his treacherous cock. It was even worse without her shirt. Her nipples were puckered and tight, pushing against her clingy bra. It was practically see-through. Shite, he was a pervert and now her whole chest was covered in goose bumps. He wrapped the towel around her shoulders and when she made no move to take it from him, Ron patted down her neck and back.

 

“You need to take off your jeans,” he choked out.

 

Hermione stood obediently, but made no other move. “Do you think it was the Empathy that destroyed them?”

 

Destroyed? Bloody hell, wasn’t that a bit melodramatic. “Dunno.” Should he take her pants off as well? He’d never done _that_ before. Ron didn’t think he’d be able to control himself.

 

“Maybe Charlie’s feelings were too much for her,” Hermione said thoughtfully. “It obviously hurts her to be around him. But that doesn’t explain everything. There has to be something more. Something _else_ happened.”

 

Ron closed his eyes tightly and took a deep, slow breath. Opening them again, he said firmly, “I’m going to take off your jeans now.”

 

He waited for her to protest. Hoping, on some level, that she’d snap out of it and complete the task herself. But Hermione just looked at him as if to say, “So what are you waiting for?” Shite. Fuck. Ron’s hands trembled like a Goddamn nancy boy as he reached out and found the buttons to her jeans.

 

“Do you think they’ll ever work things out?” Hermione asked, her voice different this time, lower, more intimate.

 

Ron dropped to his knees, not able to look at her face. “I hope so,” he managed through a suddenly thick throat. He was desperately trying not to think about what he was doing as he peeled her damp and clinging jeans over arse and thighs. She stepped out and presented her foot to him. He almost laughed when he realized she wanted him to take off her wet socks. What was wrong with him? What was wrong with _her_?

 

When Ron was finally finished, he got to his feet shakily, trying not to ogle her nearly starkers form. Hermione licked her lips and gazed into his face. “Me too. I hope so too.” He handed her the dry tee-shirt and surprisingly she actually took it. “Ron? If you can’t plan, if everything can change in an instant, what do you do? How do you live your life?”

 

“I reckon you have to live for the moment,” he answered automatically. Ron didn’t realize that it was probably a quiz until after he had answered. Shite, he should have thought his answer out more.

 

Hermione nodded, gnawing on her lip. “Yes. I think so as well. It’s the only logical answer.”

 

Did he answer correctly? Somehow, Ron didn’t think so. Hermione opened her hand and he watched the dry shirt fall to the floor.

 

His heart rate shot up. He lost control of his body, his eyes traveling her moonlit form. Fuck, she was gorgeous. Hermione’s eyes were glued to the tent formed in his pajama’s bottom. Ron was just about to apologize when she lunged forward in her first forceful movement of the night and grabbed his head, pulling it forcefully to hers.

 

A moan escaped him as Ron fell involuntarily into Hermione’s deep kiss, her mouth and tongue attacking him without preamble. It felt wonderful after the horrible day they had had. He wished he could end every day this way.

 

But Hermione wasn’t in her right mind and her kisses were turning from merely passionate to desperate. This wasn’t right. Ron gathered his strength to grab her waist and push her away, but then he encountered cool, damp, _bare_ skin. Shite.

 

His hands clenched helplessly at her waist, while Ron enjoyed another full minute of snogging before he was finally able to find the strength to push her back. Hermione looked up at him in surprise as he panted, struggling for words. Damn, he felt as though he’d run a mile. “Hermione … we … you’re upset. I don’t think—”

 

“I don’t want to waste time,” she pleaded, her eyes burning holes into his.

 

Ron couldn’t refuse Hermione anything, but he couldn’t take advantage either. “We have plenty of time,” he argued, feeling himself throb in protest. What did his damn erection really think it was going to get out of this anyway?

 

“School is in _eleven_ days, Ron!” Hermione burst out, almost angrily.

 

It felt like a physical blow. Ron could have sworn he was actually pushed back with the force of it. What was she saying? Was she saying that this was over in eleven days? That they would never get to kiss again? Ron had suspected that might happen, but to hear it from Hermione … his throat clogged as angry, reckless desperation stole his thoughts.

 

“Eleven days,” she repeated, stepping into him again and clutching his shoulders.

 

Ron wanted to ask Hermione what she meant. He wanted to demand she tell him if she planned on ditching him the minute they stepped foot on that blasted train. Shite, she couldn’t ditch him, they weren’t even together. But, Goddamn, it felt as if they were. He had to close his eyes. God, what had he done? They were speeding toward inevitable disaster.

 

And that disaster was eleven days away. Eleven fucking days left with Hermione. Ron growled low in his throat, a sound that he knew sounded as primal as he felt. He grabbed her and for a moment she looked shocked by the intensity on his face, but he didn’t give her a chance to change her mind. He just took up where they left off. Only this time, it was Ron who led the dangerously desperate kisses.

 

If Hermione was going to leave him, he’d burn himself into her skin. Ron was going to leave an imprint that would never fade. She’d never be able to be with another bloke without thinking of him, he swore to God. Shite, another bloke. Ron grabbed her arse almost violently and lifted her, carelessly rubbing her against his erection. He’d had enough of restraint. Jealousy and fear made it impossible anyway.

 

Hermione moaned loudly, her nails digging into his scalp, her tongue fighting his for dominance as she wrapped her legs around his waist. Her thighs were surprisingly strong around his hips. Oh, shite.

 

Ron managed to gather enough control to stumble to the bed. He practically threw them down on it, landing half on top of her. She didn’t seem to mind though, only giving a barely perceptible grunt and kissing him harder, if such a thing were possible. Hermione pushed at him until they were laying side by side, her hand reaching for his pajama bottoms.

 

“Hermione,” he yelped, pulling back as he felt her small hand skimming the waistband of his pants. She laughed breathlessly, pulling out his wand.  The magical kind, that was. “Oh right,” Ron breathed, relieved. He leapt to his knees and yanked the curtains closed. No need to give Harry a show, especially with Hermione half— _mostly_ starkers. Damn.

 

“ _Impert_ —” She began as he suddenly found her neck unbearably alluring, and began lavishing it with his tongue. “ _Imper_ —Ron! _Imperturbis_!” With a breathless laugh, Hermione tossed the wand away and yanked his head back to hers, biting his lip in punishment before sinking back into the deep passionate kisses of before.

 

Hermione was too bloody amazing. Her skin was now warm and smooth under his hands and Ron fought the urge to grip it roughly. He couldn’t live without this. No wonder Charlie and Adrianna went completely around the bend.

 

Her hands curled over his biceps and Ron found himself being pulled into a seated position. Confused, he followed Hermione, growling when she tore away from him, her lips glistening, her cheeks rosy, curls drying around her face in the sexiest way possible.

 

Her hands stroked his chest through his tee-shirt. “I’ve made you all wet,” Hermione breathed and Ron looked down to see the damp imprint of her breasts on his shirt.

 

“So, you have.” Ron smiled at the sight and his eyes were automatically drawn to Hermione’s firm breasts, perfectly round with cold and arousal. His throat worked and he had the sudden urge to eat her alive.

 

“You’ll catch a chill,” she said softly, in a tone that Ron would have described as coy, if it had come from anyone _but_ Hermione. Then she reached out and yanked up his shirt. He lifted his arms without thought, his already hard cock twitching in appreciation.

 

They came back to together with a wet slap as her fantastic, wet, almost see-through bra made contact with his chest. He could feel the hard pucker of her nipples against him. They rubbed against his and Ron shivered. It was too much. Unbidden, one hand came between their bodies to cup and kneed her breast, his other resting on the small of her back, holding her to him tightly.

 

Hermione broke from his kiss with a whimper, her head falling back. “Take it off,” she moaned.

 

His hand froze, as Ron’s mind scrambled to make sense of the situation. “But—”

 

“Ron, _please_.”

 

Some distant part of his brain still thought it was a bad idea to remove one of the two remaining scraps of clothing on Hermione’s body, but that part had apparently no control whatsoever over Ron’s hands. The one on her back swiftly flew up and released the clasp to her bra.

 

Hermione gasped and hurriedly leaned back, tearing the garment off as if it offended her. Ron almost protested, he liked that bra, but _damn_ , he liked her without it even better. Both of his hands were on her breasts before she could untangle the bra from her wrists. He kneaded her bare flesh, his thumbs finding pebbled nipples.

 

Her hands found his cheeks and cupped them as she guided his lips back to hers, taking the lead once more in amazing kisses, leaving what was left of Ron’s mind to concentrate on his hands. He rolled Hermione’s nipples between his thumb and forefinger, causing her to break away, gasping.

 

“Ron … I want … I …”

 

“Anything, love.” In that moment Ron had never meant it more. _Anything_.

 

“Your mouth.”

 

Fuck, Hermione was going to have to stop saying things like that, or Ron was going to embarrass himself. “What about getting frustrated?” he asked with the small piece of his brain that was still functioning.

 

“Bugger that. I need you.  Now!”

 

And with that, the last bit of blood left Ron’s head and traveled south. Who needed to think anyway? His mouth descended gratefully on her chest as if it had been waiting its entire life for this moment. After a few minutes of teasing Hermione with open-mouthed kisses to the perfect globes, he allowed the hands tugging at his hair to guide his mouth to one of her nipples. Ron fell upon it, sucking like a man starving.

 

Hermione’s moans reverberated in the small space. She fell back and Ron followed her, one leg finding its way between hers. She clutched his hip and ground herself against his leg. Damn, she was going to kill him.

 

Then, abruptly, Hermione grabbed his head, pulling it back and yanking him off of her. Ron looked up at her, his eyes having trouble focusing. “Frustrated?” he panted, trying to squash his disappointment

 

Hermione shook her head wildly. “Touch me,” she breathed. It was a command.

 

“What?” Ron squeaked. She couldn’t mean what he thought she meant.

 

“Show me how,” Hermione panted. “I don’t know how. You said you’d help.  I don’t want to go back to school not knowing how.”

 

Shite. Ron wished he could pretend that he didn’t understand her meaning, but then the image of her masturbating in bed at Hogwarts formed in his mind. Would Hermione think of him? If he taught her how, how could she not? God, this was _so_ wrong. “Hermione, you’re not—”

 

“Please,” she moaned grabbing Ron’s oddly limp hand and guiding it down to her rain dampened knickers.

 

Ron’s hand curled over her, seeming to know where it belonged, and Hermione let go of his wrist. The tips of his fingers found her knickers soaked through, and shite, that was _not_ from the rain. Suddenly, he was finding it hard to breathe. Crap, shite, what was he doing? He pressed lightly over the thin fabric and she moaned.

 

Damn. Ok, he could do this. Oh God, Ron was going to explode. His hand trembled as it methodically made its way to the elastic of her knickers. His hand flattened against her smooth belly and slid under them at an agonizingly slow pace. He was buying time to come up with a plan. Oh God, he _couldn’t_ do this.

 

Ron had told Hermione that he would help her, but he had never thought she would actually take him up on his offer. He had been teasing her, been being cheeky. He didn’t know what to do. He’d never been anywhere _near_ this part of a girl—woman before. What if it didn’t work? What if she didn’t like it? What if he hurt her?

 

Then Hermione’s knickers were around her thighs and he saw his hand pulling them down as if they belonged to someone else. Shite. What was he doing? Ron didn’t need them _off_. He had the sudden urge to pull them back up, but that would just be … really hard to explain. He bought more time by pulling them off completely.

 

Then Ron sat back and glanced up at her flushed, completely starkers form. Holy fucking shite.

 

“Ron?” Hermione whispered, unsure.

 

Right, he was supposed to touch her. Damn, how was he supposed to do that? What had Charlie said to do? Ron couldn’t remember. Oh God. Tentatively, he reached out and touched her folds with a ridiculous tremor in his hands. Damn, Hermione was so wet and slippery. Ron hadn’t expected her to be so wet and slippery. Now what?

 

This would all be rather brilliant if he weren’t completely terrified. Ron ran his fingers over her softly and Hermione squirmed. “Ok?” he squeaked, beginning to panic.

 

Hermione nodded. “It just tickles.”

 

Tickles. It wasn’t supposed to tickle. Charlie said to find the clitoris. Ok, so where was it? There wasn’t enough light in there and this really didn’t look like the drawing. It was much _more_. Oh God, he couldn’t think.

 

Ron was utterly incompetent. He was never going to be able to do this right. Hermione wasn’t going to want to do this, or anything else, ever again. At least not with him and certainly not after school started. Ron suddenly realized if he ever wanted a real chance with Hermione, he was going to have to make this good.

 

Great. More pressure. Ron felt his erection droop. Well, at least he was no longer in danger of embarrassing himself in _that_ way. He needed to touch her, Goddamn it. He moved his hand higher, resting his fingers against Hermione’s curls. That was where the bloody clitoris was supposed to be, wasn’t it?

 

He got no reaction whatsoever. Shite! Ron felt around a bit, edging his fingers over the soft mound of flesh, pressing harder, praying for a reaction, _any_ reaction. Then he felt something strange, something rolling under his fingertips. Hermione gasped, lurching upward violently.

 

With full-fledged panic, Ron yanked his hand away, sitting back. That was _not_ the reaction he was looking for. “Oh God, I’m … are you ok?”

 

“Yeah,” Hermione gasped, letting out a long slow breath. “That was intense. I wasn’t expecting—”

 

Ron couldn’t stand it any more, his face burned with humiliation. He needed to end this farce. “I’m sorry, Hermione. I said I’d help, but I … I don’t know what to do either. I don’t know what to do.” Ron had never felt more pathetic. He’d never deserve her.

 

Hermione was staring at him with wild unfocused eyes. Was she even listening? Did she want him to go? Abruptly, she burst out, “You know how to masturbate, right?”

 

Oh, Ron had forgotten she’d gone insane. “It’s not exactly the same, Hermione.”

 

She struggled to her knees and the pervert in Ron couldn’t help but stare at the sway of her breasts.

 

Swallowing, Hermione started breathlessly, “If neither of us know how to … how to pleasure _me_ and one of us knows how to pleasure _you_ , maybe we should start with what we know.”

 

What was she even—?

 

 _Shite_. Before Ron could even finish that thought Hermione reached over and her hand was inside his pajama bottoms. He wanted to say something, he wanted to stop her, but he couldn’t move.  And then her hand was wrapped around him, not through the cloth, but skin on skin. Oh God, it was the most amazing …

 

His stupid pajamas, with their useless worn elastic fell away as if they had a mind of their own, completely exposing him. Ron was terrified and humiliated and so turned on.  Dear God, there was nothing like the soft smooth skin of her hand squeezing his increasingly more swollen flesh. He thought he would never be able to speak again. But he had to. He couldn’t let her do this. Not like this.

 

“Hermione,” Ron choked out. “I—”

 

Her hand moved and Ron’s hips bucked involuntarily, his eyes rolling up into his head. God help him.

 

 

 

 

* * * * *

 

 

 

 

Hermione knew she wasn’t thinking clearly. She knew she was being driven by the most primitive of emotions. Dangerous recklessness was taking her over, urged on by fear. Fear of losing Ron, of running out of time, leading to the desperate need to claim him. But through it all was lust, dark, deep overpowering lust. Was it any wonder that her inhibitions didn’t hold a chance?

 

Eleven days. Charlie and Adrianna had sixteen hours to make things right and it hadn’t been enough time. Would eleven days be enough for her and Ron? Hermione needed to use every second.

 

When she asked Ron to touch her _there_ , she had expected to be overwhelming anxious. But she wasn’t. Hermione was strangely calm. Well, not calm exactly.  Excited. Expectant.

 

Hermione had expected Ron to be confident and sure, be how he always was when they Practiced. But he wasn’t.

 

His hesitation wasn’t unusual. Ron was sweet and considerate, as he always was, so much so that it made her heart ache. But when Hermione bucked with surprise after he touched a previously unknown part of her, sending a shot of pleasure bordering on pain through her body, the look in his eyes wasn’t hesitation, it was fear.

 

The panicked look in Ron’s eyes was all too familiar. It was the look he had when he lost complete confidence in himself. The expression that said he considered himself complete rubbish. He always had this look just before he gave up.

 

Hermione needed to do something, and quickly. She needed to find a way to relax him. Another wave of excitement coursed through her as the wheels of her mind started to spin.

 

“You know how to masturbate, right?” Hermione asked.

 

“It’s not exactly the same, Hermione,” Ron protested, clearly not understanding her meaning.

 

She bit her lip. Hermione would rather not explain in graphic detail what she had in mind. Which was absurd, considering what she was contemplating doing—no, what she was _going_ to do. Hermione flushed with exhilaration as she came up onto her knees. Ron’s eyes became glued to her breasts. Good. That was good. Best he stayed distracted for the time being.

         

“If neither of us know how to … how to pleasure _me_ and one of us knows how to pleasure _you_ , maybe we should start with what we know.”

 

Ron just blinked at her, clearly not understanding her explanation. Poor boy, he wasn’t thinking straight either. Hermione glanced down to the obvious tent in his pajama bottoms and almost lost her nerve.

 

It was just like ripping off a bandage or jumping into a pool of cold water, best to get it over with quickly. Hermione reached out, and without allowing herself to contemplate what she was doing, she slipped her hand into Ron’s pajama bottoms. She just did it, no plan, no preparation. She just reached in and took it out, his pajamas easily sliding out of the way.

 

Then Hermione was kneeling there with Ron’s … _penis_ pulsing in her hand. Oh dear heavens. How had she come to this place?

 

Hermione was holding a penis. Dear God, that sounded awful. Cold and clinical, not at all how this felt. It was a wretched name for the living hardness in her hand. What had Adrianna called it? Cock? That was it. _Cock_. It had made Hermione blush when she first heard it, but now she understood. It was a more … _appropriate_ name. Sexier.

 

“Hermione, I—”Ron began huskily, only to break off in a moan when Hermione gave into the urge to slide her hand up his length. It was smoother than she expected and oddly … springy, especially considering how hard it was. When she squeezed it, she could almost feel the blood pumping through it.

 

“God, love, you don’t have to,” Ron tried again, though not very convincingly. He was panting when Hermione finally looked up at him. She couldn’t help but blush as she met his wild eyes. Well, she would certainly hope she’d blush. She did have her hand around Ron’s … cock. Whoa.

 

Ron struggled for breath, sweat breaking out on his brow as he arched back on his elbows, every muscle coiled tight. He looked like he had a fever. He looked absolutely, _unbelievably_ sexy.

 

Licking her lips, Hermione’s hand tightened just a bit and she ran her fist up his length, surprised to feel his skin move with the hand. His strangled cry seemed to indicate he liked it. Did she look this … this out of control when he touched her? Did Ron find that look as appealing as she did?

 

“Hermione.  Oh God. Oh God …”

 

”I want to,” Hermione said breathlessly, belatedly answering his former question. It was amazing how much she really did want to. She repeated the hand motion, running down the length and back up again.

 

With a long moan, Ron fell onto his back. His breath hitched when he tried once more, “Seriously, you don’t have to. God, _Hermione_!”

 

She pulled up again, pleased with the results. This wasn’t so hard. Adrianna was right, it was relatively obvious what to do with boys. “Don’t you like it?” Hermione asked softly, though she was almost certain he did.

 

Ron laughed almost hysterically. “Yeah, yeah, it’s great. But …” He struggled to sit up again.

 

Hermione pushed Ron back down with her free hand. “Then lay back and tell me what you want.” She couldn’t believe that raspy, sexy voice was her own.

 

Turning her attention back to Ron’s cock (she was really beginning to like that word), Hermione studied the head. It looked as odd as it had in the pictures. Yet, somehow, it was much more. Strange how something could look so much better in real life, like comparing a print to the original masterpiece.

 

She experimentally swept her thumb over the smooth surface of the tip, earning another moan and making her smile. It was wet, making it easier to move her fingers over it. A drop of liquid appeared from the slit in the center and she caught it on her thumb. Hermione suppressed the bizarre urge to bring it to her mouth.

 

Instead, realizing Ron had never answered her question, Hermione pressed, “What do you want?”

 

That hysterical, husky chuckle was back. “Doing just fine,” Ron panted. “You’re ... you’re a natural.”

 

Hermione smiled proudly, trying that pulling motion he seemed to like so much, this time with a little more pressure. Ron cried out and his hips jerked into her hand. She felt a rush of arousal, feeling more confident and … in control than she ever did when she and Ron Practiced. It was an addictive feeling.

 

She repeated the motion, setting up a rhythm. “Is this what you want me to do?” Hermione’s voice was as breathless as his.

 

“Yes.  God, yes.  Hermione …” Well, maybe not _as_ breathless as Ron’s.

 

Her hand naturally sped up to match Ron’s rhythm as his hips bucked. Hermione watched in fascination as he thrust upward _thrust_. Oh heavens.

 

The objective, scientific part of her mind knew his body was reacting instinctively, his hips moving in the ancient rhythm of mating. Oh God, Ron wanted to make love to her. Or at least, part of him did. Hermione felt triumphant and outrageously warm at the thought and that _wasn’t_ the scientific part of her mind.

 

“God, ‘Mione … I …you need to stop. Quickly. Oh God. Shite.” Ron tried to grab for her hand, but Hermione refused to stop her motion. In fact, she increased the speed in response.

 

Ron’s hand fell away as his back arched. _Beautiful_. Her eyes widened. It was fascinating. Fluid erupted from his cock and Hermione jerked back with surprise as it shot out with a force she hadn’t been expecting, narrowly avoiding it hitting her chest and face. Instead, the thick, hot liquid splattered over her hand and his abdomen. Again, she had that strange impulse to taste, but squashed it.

 

Before Hermione had time to reconsider her decision, Ron muttered, “Sorry,” and grabbed his wand, hastily cleaning away the evidence of his passion and causing her hand to fall away from him. She was strangely disappointed. “Sorry,” Ron repeated, looking flustered.

 

“No, no,” Hermione said, surprised at the wonder in her voice. “I liked it.” She looked up at him shyly, realizing it was the truth. She _had_ liked it. A lot. Making Ron feel that way, giving him pleasure … oh heavens, it was unlike _anything_. And the act itself hadn’t been bad either.

 

Smiling at Ron, Hermione realized all those dark feelings from earlier in the evening were gone. Instead, she felt powerful, confident, attractive … and really, really aroused. Ron broke into a wide smile at the look on her face, and she laughed, just because.

 

“C‘mere,"” Ron murmured with that fantastically rough, sexy voice, as one of his hands threaded into her hair and the other found her waist. He pulled her into a deep, slow, sensual kiss. He took the lead, his kiss having lost its urgency, but not its intensity. Somehow, it made Hermione feel adored. God, she needed him. This had to work. He _had_ to be hers.

 

Thankfully, her mind quickly went fuzzy and that dark thought was lost as well, driven away by Ron’s calloused hands traveling her body worshipfully. Oh God, she was starkers. Hermione had forgotten. Wasn’t it strange that she wasn’t embarrassed? In fact, she was rubbing against him like a complete hussy and couldn’t find the energy to care.

 

Ron wedged his hand between their bodies, no easy feat the way she was pressed against him, and cupped her breast. His talented thumbs found her nipple and flicked it, causing that now familiar lightning bolt to her groin. Hermione moaned into his mouth and rubbed herself against him more fiercely.

 

He began rolling the nipple between his thumb and forefinger, the pressure building even faster than before. Her hips were jerking wildly, just as Ron’s had done. Hermione tried to still them but couldn’t, nor could she control the almost continual sounds she moaned into Ron’s mouth.

 

His other hand moved down her belly to her pelvis and Hermione’s first thought was that he was trying to halt her hips. “Ron?” she whimpered, pulling away just enough to get the words out.

 

But instead of trying to stop her bucking, his hand smoothed over her damp, wiry curls, cupping her. “Shhh. It’s your turn.” Then Ron stole Hermione’s breath with more kisses, grinding his palm into her.

 

Hermione cried out wordlessly. Oh heavens, she had never felt anything like _that_ before. Where …? What …? Ron’s confidence was back in full force and two of his fingertips dipped into a place where nothing had ever been before. She was so shocked by the feeling that her back arched, her face falling away from his.

 

“Ok?” Ron questioned, panting against her lips.

 

He needed reassurance, but Hermione couldn’t get her voice to work. She could only nod jerkily as his other hand continued to knead her breast. Who knew Ron was so coordinated? The only other time she had felt this way she had been in a flame fruit/Firewhiskey induced haze.

 

Tentatively, Ron’s thumb pressed into the center of her curls. Hermione cried out, her hips jerking and her eyes rolling back into her head. Somehow, she found her voice.

 

“How?” Hermione asked, awed by the difference in Ron. “You said you didn’t know …?” His thumb began moving in circles and she couldn’t complete her sentence. It took all her effort to keep her eyes open.

 

“Good?” Ron asked roughly.

 

He hit _that_ spot again and all she could to was moan and cry out, “Oh God, yes.”

 

Ron laughed, a pure, joyful sound, and kissed her chin. “I remember now … what Charlie told me to do.”

 

Oh. Oh good. It occurred to her that just like with everything else, Ron merely needed to relax and find his confidence and, oh dear God, the results were incredible. This was so much better _without_ the Firewhiskey.

 

Without warning, Ron lowered his head and latched onto a nipple, sucking sharply. It was too much. Hermione grabbed onto his hair, but it wasn’t stable enough. Desperate, she seized the sheets of the bed, balling them into her fists and holding on for dear life as her muscles coiled.

 

Before Hermione’s lids slipped closed, she caught sight of Ron’s beautiful blue eyes staring up into her face as he tongued her nipple. Too much. Too much. A finger slipped inside her. Oh dear God. Oh God. She tensed further, pleasure coursing through her. Then there was this amazing crashing feeling.

 

Her hips jerked one final time, now trying to escape what was suddenly a painfully intense sensation. Hermione pushed away Ron’s hand hastily, struggling for breath, feeling weak and exhilarated at the same time.

 

When Hermione looked up, she found Ron staring at her wide-eyed and strangely boyish, given the situation. “Ok?” he asked again.

 

God, yes. Hermione smiled a daft smile. “I’m ... _brilliant_.”

 

Ron beamed back at her, falling on his side next to her. Resting on an elbow, he smiled down at her with the look he often wore on Christmas morning.

 

For her part, Hermione had never felt so relaxed. So, _this_ was what she had been missing her entire life. God, she _had_ been a prude. Eagerly, she turned to Ron. “When can we do that again?”

 

Ron laughed joyously and in that moment all the pain in their lives was forgotten. There was no deadline, no school to go back to. There was no war, no world outside the curtains of this bed. Live in the moment.

 

“Love, we can do this _whenever_ you want.” Ron’s voice was thick with something like adoration. They grinned at each other stupidly before moving as one and coming back together in yet another deep kiss.

 

 

 

 

* * * * *

  


 

 

Ginny didn’t know what was wrong with her. She had a lovely boyfriend and a wonderful solid friendship with Harry. It was _exactly_ what she wanted. She should be perfectly content. Well, as content as one can be when stuck in the middle of a bloody war.

 

But the horrible fear and need muddying up her thoughts tonight had nothing to do with the war. Though, where it did come from she didn’t know. It was insane. _She_ was insane. Ginny was consumed with panic over losing what she had with Harry.  Which was _just_ friendship. And she wasn’t going to lose that. Right? He wasn’t going to ignore her completely once they went back at school, was he?

 

And the watch. What a thing to be attached to. Ginny had always known she would lose it eventually. It was amazing she was able to hold on this long. It wasn’t even all that important, just a lark that took a bit of a turn. It had _nothing_ to do with her relationship with Harry. Nothing.

 

And why did watching Adrianna’s heart break over her thoughtless brother, who didn’t care enough about his own family to even say goodbye to them, make the ache even worse? Ginny just wasn’t thinking straight, that much was clear. She knew that the decisions she was making were very poor at the moment.

 

But for some reason, Ginny had to be with Harry that night. She just _had_ to. This irrational need overrode everything else, her good sense, her sense of self-preservation, even her ability to tell right from wrong.

 

Harry and Ginny _had_ to reestablish the relationship they had created, fortify it, prove that Dean wouldn’t interfere with their closeness. Why should he? Harry and Ginny were _just_ friends. A girl was allowed to have friends.

 

That’s why Ginny all but begged Harry to come to her room with her, to touch the watch, to experience the dreams one more time. Even though it felt wrong, felt as though she were cheating on Dean. She _must_ have known it was wicked. Why else would she have given into the impulse to put up that Imperturbable, as thought she were hiding a clandestine affair?

 

Maybe it was the image of Harry, bare-chested and sweating, carelessly undressing in front of her, that made her feel that way. Or perhaps, it was the musty, sweaty boy-smell that permeated the air, making Ginny dizzy. That wasn’t at all good, given that her reasoning was already so off.

 

Then they had touched the watch and it was so much more than it had ever been before. It was just her and Harry, and no one else existed. Ginny had never felt this connected with anyone and she never wanted it to stop. Harry was holding her close and he wanted her. She could _feel_ it. It didn’t even matter that it was the watch _making_ him feel that way. The line between reality and fantasy was blurred in her mind anyway.

 

Oh God. This was the last time Ginny was ever going to feel this way. It didn’t matter if she had a boyfriend. Dean Thomas didn’t exist in this place, this time. The glow faded and Harry pulled away. She needed him back. The loss was unbearable. Ginny couldn’t catch her breath.

 

She couldn’t believe she had the bollocks to ask him to sleep with her, but staring at his broad back, in that threadbare shirt, Ginny couldn’t stop herself.

 

Then Harry made a remark about the necklace, a nasty, snarky remark. It should have been like cold water, breaking the spell. But there was something in Harry’s eyes, something an awful lot like jealousy and, God help her, Ginny wanted it to be jealousy. She knew she was truly a horrible person, but still, she couldn’t get the necklace off fast enough.

 

Suddenly, Harry was lying next to her and Ginny needed contact. The need clawed at her insides, tearing her to pieces. Staunchly ignoring her pride, she laid her head on his shoulder, needing some of the comfort he had given her the night before. _Friendly_ comfort.

 

Harry’s large calloused hand wrapped around her neck and something like longing filled her. This was the last dream they would share. She was glad when the power of the watch finally pulled her into unconsciousness. Otherwise, Ginny didn’t know how she was going to explain her tears.

 

“Helana. Helana, wake up, love.”

 

She was warm and content, surrounded by sweetness. Helana’s emotions were everything that opposed Ginny’s. It felt wonderful and Ginny relaxed into the awe that was the dream.

 

“Mmm,” Helana, murmured, cracking her eyes open just enough to see Alexi’s beloved face leaning over her, only millimeters away. “I don’t want to,” she mumbled, smiling and stretching like a cat.

 

Reaching up, Helana pulled her husband down into a sensual open-mouthed kiss. Ginny savored the sensation, by now familiar. Well, maybe this time it was a bit more. She relished the feel of his hands as they skimmed over her thin chemise, making her—Helana, feel warm and loved.

 

Ginny realized that while she understood it wasn’t really Harry kissing her, it didn’t matter. In her mind, she _was_ kissing Harry. He could feel it just like she could. For weeks, Ginny had pretended that this wasn’t about the illusion of a romantic and physical affair with Harry. But it was.

 

Finally, she really understood why she had practically begged Harry to come to her room with her. _This_ is what Ginny needed. She was a horrible person. She was betraying her boyfriend, of less than _one_ day, in the worst possible way. She was going straight to hell.

 

But the lovely thing about these dreams was that no matter how disgusted Ginny was with herself, Alexi and Helana’s feelings for each other were so strong that they drowned everything else out.

 

Alexi was cupping her breasts, brushing her nipples. Oh God. He had never done that before. Oh wow, that was lovely, but ... ow, he squeezed and it hurt. Her breasts ached. Then his hands wandered down over her rounded belly. Shite, that was _not_ from an abundance of chocolate frogs.

 

Helana was pregnant. Why did that fill Ginny with despair and regret? Longing and emptiness? And _this,_ Helana’s happiness couldn’t push away.

 

Alexi broke away from his wife’s kiss, murmuring against her lips, “Love, we need to go. Your Brother’s—”

 

“But I _want_ you,” Helana whined. Ginny recognized that desire. Though, it was more intense than anything she had ever felt herself.

 

Alexi groaned and fell back into the kiss. He pulled away rather quickly though, breathing, “God, love, what this child does to you.”

 

Helana giggled and tried to pull him back to her, but the squeaky voice of a house elf cut through their passion. “Missus. Missus Helana needs to get into her dress robes now. Missus is needed at Master Stephan’s wedding.”

 

Helana groaned, but Ginny was relieved. Really. She _was_. She may have felt Helana’s loss when Alexi moved away from her, but that was _Helana’s_ loss. Ginny was _not_ suddenly nauseated at the thought that this may have been the last time she kissed Harry. In her dreams. Kissed Harry in her dreams. It wasn’t real.

 

Ginny watched a team of house elves ready Helana for a wedding, extravagant robes laid gently over her rounded tummy. Helana’s quiet boredom gave Ginny plenty of time to contemplate her sins. This time Helana’s contentment was far from strong enough to squash Ginny's self-disgust.

 

She was a voyeur, a traitor, and a slut. She was weak and stupid, delusional even. Why couldn’t she just be happy with Dean? Why was she jealous of Helana? And why was Ginny even entertaining the thought that she wished _she_ were carrying _Harry’s_ child? Shite, she was only fifteen, for God’s sake.

 

And even so, Ginny should be fantasizing about having Dean’s baby, in say ten or twenty years, and _not_ Harry Potter’s. Why did Fate hate her?

 

Well, clearly it didn’t hate Helana. She was escorted downstairs by her adoring husband and their entourage, passing by hundreds of people. The feelings emitted by the crowd were not as overwhelming as they had been in the past. Helana must be controlling her powers better.

 

The couple was seated on a platform in the gardens in front of a large throng of guests, not unlike Helana and Alexi’s own wedding. Helana beamed with happiness when the ceremony began and her brother stood with his young bride. It seemed this was not an arranged marriage as hers had been.

 

Helana leaned close to her husband and whispered, “Anneliese looks lovely, don’t you think? It’s so wonderful that Stephan finally found a woman who he could love as much as…” Helana broke off blushing.

 

Alexi chuckled softly. “As much as what, love?” he teased.

 

Helana took the teasing remark as a challenge, making Ginny respect her infinitely more. “As much as you love me,” she replied almost defiantly.

 

Again, Alexi chuckled, his arm encircling her waist and resting on her rounded belly. “Not possible, love.” He kissed her cheek and Ginny could feel Helana flush.

 

She was filled with love, intense and complete and overwhelming, unlike anything Ginny had ever felt before. In that moment, Ginny had the terrible fear that she would never feel that kind of love again.

 

After that, the wedding seemed to stretch on endlessly, Ginny having lost the ability to enjoy Helana’s happiness. She was being punished for her betrayal, being forced to endure what was once a wonderful experience. Now turned sour by Ginny’s own selfishness.

 

When the wedding was finally over, Helana and Alexi were escorted to a secluded area for the family to greet the happy couple before the crowds descended. Helana embraced the lovely young bride. “We are so happy to have you in the family, Anneliese.”

 

 _Crack_. “As are we all.”

 

Instantly, the group was silent, frozen in shock at Hilda’s sudden arrival. Ginny felt Helana’s fear as well as the intense wave of terror emitted by the rest of the small group. She turned slowly to face her sister, placing a hand protectively on her belly.

 

From Stephan, Ginny felt rage. He clenched his jaw, his hands tightening and releasing in succession. “How did you get through the wards?” he demanded.

 

Hilda laughed. “My dear brother, surely you didn’t think those pathetic wards would be enough to keep _me_ out. Do you have any understanding of my current power?” She smiled at them in an evil, confident sort of way, chilling Ginny to the bone. It was a look she had seen only once before, on a young Tom Riddle’s face.

 

Helana was concentrating on blocking out the emotions around her and keeping control of her powers. Hilda only smirked at her, saying smugly, “I have business here. I couldn’t go without welcoming the newest member of our dear family.” Stephan pulled his wife closer to him as the poor girl stood wide-eyed and trembling. “ _And_ … you have something of mine.”

 

Before she had time to react, Hilda snatched Helana’s wand, Adrianna’s wand, from her robes. “This was meant for me, _child_ ,” Hilda sneered. “I am the powerful Empath in this family. You,” she gestured dismissively to Helana, “are just here to _gestate_.”

 

A new wave of fury flared in Helana and this time it was her own. “ _Entire Bacchetta!”_ Helana held out her hand and her wand appeared in it. She closed her hand around it tightly, keeping it pointed at her sister. “It’s mine now, Hilda. The wand knows that, even if you don’t. You are _not_ a part of this family any longer.”

 

Disgust and hatred turned Hilda’s features ugly. “Maybe so, baby sister. But I am more powerful than you will ever be, even _with_ that wand. Your pathetic morality will keep you helpless, weak.”

 

 _Crack. Crack_. Hilda disappeared and reappeared behind Stephan and Anneliese, grabbing them both by the back of the neck. Before anyone had time to react, the couple cried out and doubled over. Helana felt all the good feelings drain from them, leaving Stephan and Anneliese huddled on their knees.

 

Hilda laughed, practically glowing with power. “I wish you every happiness, my _dear_ brother.” _Crack_. She was gone.

  
  


 

* * * * *

 

 

  


Ron was alone in the ballroom, carefully stretching his tired and aching muscles. Though, this morning the pain was far from unwelcome. Especially since it was accompanied by a flood of amazing memories from the night before.

 

He and Hermione had woken up early, restless, though exhausted from last night’s _activities_. Ron had wanted to be with Hermione. He had wanted to get back to the exploration they had begun only hours before, but he suddenly had no idea what to say to her.

 

Would Hermione regret it now that the skies had cleared and the world didn’t seem so desperate? Would she blame him for taking advantage? Had she enjoyed it as much as Ron had? It sure seemed like she did.

 

When Hermione suggested they go downstairs to train, with or without Adrianna, Ron jumped at the chance. Nothing like a bit of physical activity to clear the mind, it was almost as good as flying. After that and a warm meal, things would make more sense. He was sure of it.

 

He looked up from his stretching to see Hermione enter the room still wearing a shirt of his and a pair of Harry’s rolled up work-out pants. Ron’s brow furrowed. She went to her room to get changed and check on Ginny. And hopefully _not_ find Harry, whose bed was suspiciously unused when they woke at the crack of dawn.

 

Ron’s apprehension only increased as he took in the look on Hermione’s face. She swallowed before stating, “Ginny … the room’s been Imperturbabled.”

 

His jaw clenched. Goddamn him. Harry _had_ to be in there. What the fuck would his best friend be doing with his sister, in an Imperturbabled room?

 

Well, he had a good idea of what they _could_ be doing, _if_ Ginny hadn’t got herself a brand new, shinny boyfriend just the day before. In made no sense. Maybe Ron should have listened to Hermione’s paranoia after all. Something strange had been going on with Harry and Ginny for weeks now.

 

Before Ron could question Hermione, Adrianna bound down the stairs and into the room, looking as bright-eyed and energetic as Ron had ever seen her. The insane woman of less than twenty-four hours earlier was entirely gone. Ron shook his head to clear it. Maybe he was still asleep.

 

“Good morning,” Adrianna called almost cheerily.

 

“Adrianna … what?” Hermione sputtered, looking quite as shocked by her appearance as Ron was. “Are you all right?”

 

“Perfectly fine …” Adrianna began lightly, and then trailed off, her eyes narrowing, a frown coming over her face. “What’s wrong?” They had no chance to reply before she continued, “They Imperturbabled _what_?”

 

Ron and Hermione’s eyes met across the room. Adrianna had read them awfully quickly. Before they could reply, the witch turned and started back up the stairs having apparently found the answers she was looking for. Shite.

 

He ran to catch up with the girls, Hermione right on Adrianna’s heals. The landing came into view just as Harry guiltily slipped out of Ginny’s room, still wearing the same clothes he had worn the night before. Something bitter and uncomfortable bubbled in Ron’s stomach.

 

Harry had barely made it out the door when Adrianna caught his arm and yanked him around to look at her. “I don’t think so,” she said, outrage in her voice.

 

Startled, Harry stared at his cousin wide-eyed. “Drana …” he sputtered. “What … are you ok?”

 

Adrianna frowned and rolled her eyes, looking her cousin over carefully before making an angry growly noise deep in her throat. She flung open the door to girl’s room and pulled Harry inside.

 

Hermione and Ron hurried after her as the group surprised Ginny, causing her to yelp as she hurriedly pulled on the shirt that was half-way over her head.

 

“What’s going on here?” Adrianna demanded of Ginny and Harry, who exchanged frightened looks. The Empath’s eyes widened still more as she looked them over, her face turning red with fury. “You did _what_? What watch?”

 

Ginny and Harry sputtered wordlessly and Hermione looked to Ron with a shocked and confused expression, but all he could do was cross his arms tightly and wait for them to answer the damn question.

 

Adrianna repeated, even angrier than before, “ _What_ watch!”

 

Dear God, did Ron even _want_ to know the answer?

  
  



	37. Exposed

Harry awoke groggy, feeling as though he hadn’t rested at all. Strangely, it felt exactly as though he had spent the entire night at a large party and, oh, battling an ultra-powerful Dark Empath. These dreams were getting far too real, _had_ been getting far too real. They were over now, whether he liked it or not.

 

Even if it weren’t for the fact that Mrs. Weasley and Adrianna were going to filet Harry and Ginny alive after they told today (if Adrianna was even well enough to care, that was) that last dream was not something a bloke shared with another bloke’s girl. It was just wrong. And besides, it only served to make him crave something he couldn’t have. It was good that it was over.  It was.

 

Maybe he should go back to sleep, avoid the explanation just a little bit longer, better to do it after a proper rest, right? But Harry made the mistake of opening his eyes … oh God. Bright light poured through the windows and illuminated the bed through the open curtains. They’d overslept. Shite. Shite. Shite.

 

They’d overslept and Harry was lying in Ginny’s bed. Anyone could walk in and find them at this hour. It was a miracle that Hermione hadn’t already and … oh bloody hell. Harry was suddenly, acutely, aware that Ginny was wrapped around him like a blanket, one leg thrown over his thigh, her head on his chest. But she wasn’t the only culprit. His arm was curled around her waist and his ankle tangled with hers.

 

What the _hell_ was wrong with him? What did he think he was doing coming up to Ginny’s room and climbing into bed with her? And, of _course_ , he was aroused. Harry woke up most mornings with an erection. Did he really think that it would be any different with the girl he fancied draped over him? He reckoned he was lucky he didn’t wake up sticky. _That_ would be humiliating.

 

At least Ginny wasn’t awake yet. She felt nice … damn it! This wasn’t fair. What had _she_ been thinking, wanting to do this with him? She had a bloody boyfriend!

 

Well, for starters, Ginny probably wasn’t thinking that she would wake up to him groping her—no, groping each other. She was doing at least _half_ of the groping. Crap. Harry wasn’t ever going to be able to meet her eyes again. First, _that_ dream, now this. And God only knew how he was going to face Dean. Shite, he was going to be Harry’s roommate for the next two years.

 

He tried to carefully untangle himself from her, but Ginny clung like a Goddamn octopus. Frustrated, Harry fumbled for his glasses, before finally yanking himself free. Miraculously, she didn’t wake, allowing him to grab his wand from the bedside table and scramble out bed.

 

He needed to get out of this room, right the hell now. It was starting to become suffocating. Why hadn’t anyone found them yet? The house must still be recovering from the last few days. Maybe he’d get lucky and … Harry reached for the doorknob only to hit a barrier and watch his fingers turn blue.

 

Fuck! He’d forgotten about the Imperturbable. Shite. Shite. Shite. Yanking his hand back, Harry scrambled for his wand, images of the entire household, including _four_ of Ginny’s brothers (again, he thanked God Charlie was finally gone) waiting outside this door, ran through Harry’s head like the slide show from hell. They were going to beat him to a bloody pulp. And he’d deserve it. Hell, he’d beat himself if he could.

 

He hesitated a moment. Maybe it would be better to just stay here. Harry looked over to Ginny’s tousled form, looking so … taking a deep breath, he muttered the incantation to reverse the Imperturbable. Nothing. Damn it. He tried it again.

 

Why did he think this would work? Because he was a bloody idiot, that’s why. Only the witch or wizard who cast the spell in the first place would take it down. It looked as though Harry was going to have to wake Ginny after all. Shite.

 

“Ginny,” Harry called, not at all loudly. If she woke up, he’d have to face her. If she opened the door, he’d have to face her brothers. But what if Mrs. Weasley was down in the kitchen right now, just about to come upstairs. “Ginny!” he yelled.

 

“Mmm, _Harry_ …” Ginny mumbled, stretching, her ridiculous shirt twisting around her.

 

Great! Now, the erection that had faded in Harry’s panic was coming back again. This was bloody fantastic. Could his life get _any_ worse?

 

“Wake up, Ginny!” he called with frustration, as the images and sensations from last night’s dream chose that moment to bombard him. Harry wanted to wake Ginny the way Alexi woke Helana—fuck! “Ginny! We overslept and I can’t get the Imperturbable down.”

 

Finally, her eyes snapped open. “Harry? What …? What time is it?"

 

“I dunno. Late,” Harry said somewhat hysterically, dread warring with arousal, leaving his poor cock not knowing which way to turn. Just leave me alone, he silently begged it. Harry didn’t have time for him right now. “Can you get the Imperturbable down? There could be a crowd—”

 

“Oh God!” Ginny cried, scrambling out of bed, looking rumpled and sexy in those damn too small pajamas. Harry was going to have to buy her a whole new wardrobe just so she’d stop torturing him.

 

“Damn it, Ginny,” he lashed out. “Do you _want_ your brothers to kill me?”

 

Nodding somewhat hysterically, Ginny grabbed her wand and hastily took down the shield. Harry grabbed the doorknob, desperate to be out of there, but then he froze. This was it. The end. Whatever this was with Ginny, it was … fuck, it was never real to begin with.

 

Harry pulled the door open, carefully peering about. He breathed a sigh of relief at the empty hall and slipped out, telling himself he wouldn’t look back. Of course, he didanyway, finding Ginny staring after him with a look of despair.

 

Shite, what did she want from him? Girls were bloody barking, all of them. They made no sense whatsoever. Clenching his jaw, Harry yanked his eyes away and stepped resolutely outside the door.

 

“I don’t think so!”

 

Harry had just slipped the door closed when a hand closed over his forearm. He started and jerked around to see his cousin staring at him with a hard expression.

 

Wide-eyed, Harry blinked at her. Adrianna was the last person he expected to be on the other side of this door. She was the last person he expected to be _awake_. After last night … shite, last night.

 

Was she ok? Adrianna looked better.  Less wild. She sounded angry, though. Was she angry about the Imperturbable or did something else happen? Was she still ... _mental_? Trying to organize his jumbled thoughts, all Harry could do was sputter, “Drana … what …? Are you ok?”

 

Adrianna frowned and rolled her eyes, before looking him over carefully. She didn’t seem _too_ mental. Was she reading him? That would mean she was better, right? That would be good. Then she growled low in her throat and Harry felt a wave of fear. Maybe that wasn’t good.

 

Wrenching Ginny’s door open, Adrianna pulled him through roughly. For the first time, Harry noticed Ron and Hermione right behind her. The looks on their faces as they followed them into the room … oh dear God. No, not good at all.

 

Harry’s heart lurched again as he turned and saw that they had caught Ginny in the middle of changing her clothes. He had a brief glimpse of creamy skin and freckles. Her freckles were the same color as her hair, maybe a shade lighter … shite, what was _wrong_ with him?

 

Ginny quickly pulled her shirt on. Thankfully, it was one of her new ones and not as small as the others, though it was still far too tight across the chest for Harry’s taste. Well, it suited his taste, just not his sanity. Ginny looked at him with a frightened expression and Harry sent back one of confusion. His mind couldn’t keep up with all the different thoughts and feelings.

 

“What’s going on here?” Adrianna demanded. The way she was staring at them, it was almost the way she used to look before they came to Grimmauld Place, when she could read his thoughts so easily. “You did _what_? What watch?”

 

Finally! For _weeks_ , Harry had been waiting for Adrianna to wake up and pay enough attention to him read his secret. Harry almost smiled. Adrianna was back. He knew as soon as that damn wanker left—

 

“ _What_ watch!” Adrianna repeated, louder and more irate.

 

Oh shite. Right, they _didn’t_ want her to know about the watch. Well, they did, but they wanted to tell her themselves. That probably would have gone over better, less screaming and such.

 

“We, um …” Ginny babbled.

 

Harry should probably try and help her, but part of him was still stuck on relief and triumph over Adrianna finally being attuned to him again.

 

“Shit, Harry, this isn’t a game!” Adrianna bit out, grabbing Harry and Ginny’s arms she yanked them over to Ginny’s bed, pushing them down upon … the scene of the crime, as it were. “Hermione, close the door and put a light silencing field up.”

 

“You mean other than the Imperturbable?” Hermione asked, confused. “I don’t—”

 

Adrianna waved her hand impatiently, calling, “ _Gauntanis!_ ”

 

Wandless magic. Harry hadn’t seen her do wandless magic like that since the wanker—

 

“Harry!” Adrianna growled. “This is _not_ about Charlie. Now, tell me about the damn watch!”

 

Her demand was met with silence, which only served to make her more enraged. Finally, before she could begin yelling again, Ginny burst out, “We didn’t mean … I mean, we … we didn’t … we only _just_ realized how important the watch was. We—”

 

“You knew! You knew about the cabin!” Adrianna roared, causing Harry to grimace. “You _know_ that Charlie and Bill could have been killed, right?”

 

Ginny gave a muffled whimper of ascent as her eyes fixed on an unknown spot on the ground. The enormity of the situation finally started to penetrate Harry’s thick scull. It was all coming out, all their sins. They should have told long ago and now it was too late.

 

Harry looked up at the disappointed expression on Adrianna’s face and felt sick. He’d never caused that look before. It was awful. Then he looked behind her at the shock and betrayal on Ron and Hermione’s faces. Fuck. Now what?

  
  


 

* * * * *

 

 

 

Hermione watchfully took in the scene unfolding around her. She had no idea what to do except watch, her body tense, her stomach tying in progressively more complicated knots, leaving her mildly ill. Confusion and shock were quickly turning to fear.  And hurt.

 

With every word spoken, every look exchanged, her trepidation grew. Harry told her they had a secret, but Hermione _assumed_ it wasn’t dangerous. They wouldn’t keep something secret if it were dangerous. Harry wouldn’t do something like that. He wasn’t so irresponsible.

 

Having spent a good deal of time yesterday contemplating this “secret,” Hermione had several theories. For one, perhaps it had something to do with Charlie and Adrianna, or research Harry and Ginny had done on the prophecy. Maybe they had discovered something else in Carter’s office.

 

Hermione had even considered the possibility that there was something of a romantic nature going on between Ginny and Harry, and they were, possibly, worried about Ron’s reaction. Though, this seemed unlikely after Ginny came home wearing Dean’s necklace.

 

But it _couldn’t_ be something vital to the war effort, not something that affected all of them. Harry and Ginny just _wouldn’t_ do that.

 

Yet, clearly, they had. The thing that frightened Hermione most wasn’t so much what was being said as Adrianna’s reaction. Her anger was … Adrianna was a woman with secrets. She respected them, both her own and other people’s. She wasn’t a hypocrite in that way. She wouldn’t begrudge Harry and Ginny a secret or two. Not under ordinary circumstances.

 

But the rage, the disappointment, even betrayal on Adrianna’s face showed this was not ordinary circumstances. The thoughts and feelings she was receiving from Harry and Ginny somehow showed they had no _right_ to this particular secret.

 

“You knew! You knew about the cabin!” Adrianna yelled, incredulous. “You _know_ that Charlie and Bill could have been killed.”

 

Hermione gasped, feeling as though she’d been struck. That just wasn’t possible! How could they have known? Certainly they would have said something if they had. Wouldn’t they?

 

She groped for Ron’s arm, grasping it for support. But he was limp beneath her hand. For the first time, Hermione tore her eyes away and looked over at Ron. He was slumped against her bed, pale and slack-jawed, distant. Oh God.

 

“We didn’t …” Ginny defended and Hermione found herself hoping that she would say _something_ that would somehow justify their actions, erase this feeling of betrayal. “I mean, I _know_ they were in danger, ok. They’re _my_ brothers. I don’t … but we didn’t _know_ the cabin in the dream had anything to do with the attacks.”

 

Dream? What dream? What were they talking about?

 

Harry picked up where Ginny left off, looking at Adrianna pleadingly, “When you said that bit about the cabin in the kitchen, we suspected—”

 

“But we didn’t _know_ —” Ginny insisted.

 

“It seemed like a coincidence at first—”

 

“There was _so_ much going on.” Ginny overpowered Harry, arguing loudly, “We didn’t even have time to say anything before Bill and Charlie left. It happened so fast and after … it just didn’t seem like the time to get into it. I mean, it _wasn’t_ the time.”

 

Adrianna was scowling at them. Was she reading something else? Something even worse? Or was she just annoyed by the stubborn arrogance in Ginny’s tone. Hermione’s mind was running a million miles a minute, trying to make sense of it all. If they knew about the cabin, then they could have told Hermione before, and she could have done research. She may have even been able to prevent some of the attacks.

 

Once again, it all came back to Hermione being distracted. Would things have happened differently if she had been paying better attention to her friends? If she hadn’t alienated them in favor of Practicing?

 

“And the part about the watch and the wand,” Harry was saying, “we didn’t realize their relevance until _after_ Charlie came back, and then—”

 

“If you _had_ told me,” Adrianna interrupted heatedly, “as you _should_ have, I would have known while Charlie and Bill were still there. I could have brought them back before they had to confront the Death Eaters, and Charlie blew up the damn cabin. Now, we have no idea what else we could have found there.”

 

“But we weren’t _sure_ ,” Ginny whimpered, her voice quivering.

 

Hermione shook her head in confusion, finally stepping forward. “The watch and the wand? Wait, you know what the Death Eaters were looking for? The other two objects?”

 

“No!” Ginny protested quickly. “We only _suspected_ —”

 

But Harry replied miserably, “Yes.”

 

“Where are they?” Hermione asked, her heart rate accelerating as she realized the clues she had been searching for were within her reach.

 

Ginny opened and closed her mouth, looking even more panicky, while Harry’s gaze seemed stuck to the floor. “We have them,” he confessed.

 

Hermione swallowed her hurt as the pieces began to come together. Was this her fault for not being more available? “Well, that’s good news,” she mumbled, looking around, taking in Adrianna’s irritation and Ron’s frighteningly blank expression.

 

“Hmm,” Adrianna grunted, arms crossed, lips pursed, as her eyes bored into the two offenders.

 

Feeling the need to fill the tense silence, and more than a little responsible for this mess, Hermione pressed on, “So where are they?  The watch and the wand?” There was a bit of a stutter in her voice.

 

Wretchedly, Ginny muttered, “It’s Adrianna’s wand.”

 

Hermione gasped, blinking away her shock. “Are you sure?”

 

“Pretty sure,” Harry replied softly.

 

Wow, just woe. Did this mean that Charlie was right? Was Voldemort after Adrianna? Was that why he was after the Empath books? It seemed almost undeniable now. Adrianna still didn’t seem worried, though. Not about herself anyway. Hermione wished Charlie hadn’t left.

 

Adrianna scowled, saying heatedly, “So you didn’t say anything mid-battle. That would, of course, have been unnecessary if you had told _weeks_ ago and not continued to play around with powerful, possibly _Dark_ magic, night after night. What were you thinking?”

 

“It’s not _Dark_ magic,” Ginny protested in an almost imperceptibly soft voice.

 

“Weeks?” Hermione croaked. Didn’t they …? Why wouldn’t they tell her? Didn’t Harry want her help? Didn’t he need her any more? She looked at Ron. There was hurt under his blank mask. Swallowing, she asked, “What exactly were you doing for _weeks_?”

 

Ginny looked away and Harry took a deep, shaky breath, looking briefly to his cousin before saying, “We, um, found this watch in my parents' things. You know, the trunk we found in the ballroom. When Ginny and I touched it … _after_ , we, um, had his dream about. I think they were my—our ancestors, Empath ancestors, from the early 1500’s.”

 

Adrianna’s eyes flared dangerously in response and all Hermione could manage was to say, “But why?”

 

“We were _going_ to tell. The very next morning,” Ginny defended. “We were going to tell Adrianna and Charlie. But every time we tried something happened. They would get into a fight or Charlie would leave—”

 

“Ginny wanted to wait for Charlie,” Harry broke in quickly, his beseeching eyes fixed on his cousin. “She didn’t trust you.” Ginny threw him a scathing look that made Harry wince. “Yet. She didn’t trust you _yet_. It was early. We were going to tell you this morning.”

 

But it was too little too late. Hermione’s eyes burned, trying to keep her voice even she asked, “Why didn’t you tell _me._ And Ron?”

 

“You were …” Harry wouldn’t look at her as he whispered, “You were busy.”

 

Intense guilt and humiliation washed over Hermione in waves as her worst fears were realized. At last, she was faced with the consequences of her selfish obsession with Ron.

 

“ _Please_ , Harry,” Adrianna barked, disgusted. “Ron and Hermione weren’t _busy_ twenty-four hours a day. Don’t try to use her guilt to get away with this.”

 

“I wasn’t,” Harry denied, looking more at fault than ever.

 

Hermione’s eyes jerked to Adrianna, grateful for her words. Her guilt diminished somewhat as she realized the truth of what she … goodness, Adrianna must have been reading her as well. She was reading them all at once, almost effortlessly. What had Charlie done to her?

 

Ginny seemed to be struggling with something, sputtering, “You don’t understand. It was—”

 

“Spit it out, Ginny,” Adrianna snapped impatiently.

 

“We were afraid that you’d take the watch away!”

 

“Before we could find out more about our ancestors,” Harry added quietly, obviously trying to moderate Ginny words.

 

Hermione shook her head. “That doesn’t make sense. Why would she take ...? There’s something more, isn’t there? What aren’t you telling us?” she asked firmly as her guilt melted, finally giving way to anger. Oh God, what more can there be?

 

“No! There’s _no_ more!” Ginny denied vehemently, shaking her head vigorously.

 

Harry’s eyes were trained away from Ginny as he confessed, “Well, the dreams were … it wasn’t as if we were just watching. It was as if we were inside the people in the dream, a part of them.” He looked up, his eyes begging them to understand. “They were trying to tell us something.”

 

But how could they understand, it was almost like possession, almost … afraid of the answer, Hermione asked cautiously, “So, the watch, it was like the—”

 

“Like the diary,” Ron broke in, speaking for the first time. “ _Riddle’s_ diary.” For an instant, the mask was gone and his eyes burned with fury, making Hermione shiver.

 

“No!” Ginny screamed, jumping to her feet. “It was _nothing_ like the diary.” But she offered no evidence to support this.

 

Adrianna raised her eyebrows skeptically. “Really? Then why is Harry thinking that one of the reasons you never told was because the watch didn’t want you to?” Again Hermione gasped, cold fear filling her as Ginny turned an accusing glare on Harry. “And it seems you agree,” Adrianna stated more softly, almost sadly as she watched the younger girl.

 

Ginny was losing more ground with every second. Things would be better if she just took some responsibility. “But—” she tried to argue.

 

Adrianna put her hand up to silence her. “Enough! Everyone sit!” She pulled a chair over for herself from under the window. “I want to hear the story from the beginning. And don’t leave out one _single_ detail.”

  


 

 

* * * * *

 

 

 

 

 

They left out the details.

 

Well, a good deal of them anyway. Ginny was just careful to leave out any details that had to do with, well, sex. And, dear God, there were a _lot_ of those. At least in this, thank God, Harry had stopped acting as though he had been slipped a vial of Veritasrum, the stupid treacherous dolt.

 

The two of them carefully down-played the pleasurable sensation they felt when they touched the watch. It wasn’t as if _that_ were relevant anyway. They also left out the bit about the kissing and the ... shite, it was over. Ginny fought back tears. She couldn’t think about that now.

 

If only Adrianna hadn’t caught them so quickly. If only Ginny had a chance to mourn and plan. But she didn’t have that time and now her emotions were raw and open for Adrianna to clearly see. Ginny knew she wasn’t hiding a single thing from her, not now.

 

Nervously, she glanced over at her white-faced brother. He wasn’t taking this well. If he heard _those_ details … Ginny let out a nervous breath, fixing her eyes on Adrianna, trying to keep her mind open, even as she kept her mouth shut. Silently, she pleaded with the older woman to let certain things remain unsaid.

 

Adrianna frowned at her, but said nothing. Ginny was safe. For now anyway. They continued the story and over time she relaxed somewhat. Hermione threw herself into solving the _problem_ , asking pertinent questions about Hilda and, thankfully, drawing Adrianna’s attention to the more important, and more _innocent_ , parts of the story. Ginny could almost pretend that the worst was over. When she didn’t look at Ron, that was.

 

“Are you sure it’s _this_ wand?” Hermione asked, carefully turning the object in question over in her hands.

 

Ginny shrugged, but Harry nodded decisively. She wished he would stop doing that, damn him. Bloody turn-tail. He never could choose her, could he? It wasn’t as if they were _absolutely_ sure.

 

“So, where’s this watch?” Adrianna asked and the calm Ginny was beginning to feel fled in an instant.

 

Her stomach dropped. “No. No. No,” echoed through her head. The worst was _far_ from over. Every fiber of Ginny’s being screamed for her to keep the watch safe, to not let anyone see it.

 

“ _Ginny_ ,” Adrianna warned with a dangerous tone, “ _where_ is the watch?”

 

It was not a tone one disobeyed, but Ginny couldn’t seem to move. She was glued to her bed.

 

“Gin,” Harry said, his voice a touch frightened, “it’s in the drawer, right? I’ll—”

 

“No!” Ginny yelled. “I’ll get it.” She stood, almost shaking with the effort. Damn Harry. He didn’t feel one-tenth of what she felt.

 

Forcing herself to go to her chest of drawers and retrieve the watch, she barely heard Ron’s low sarcastic growl next to her, “So, it’s _not_ like the diary, then?”

 

Ginny turned her head to scowl at him, but his eyes were fixed away and his jaw clenched. Tears stung Ginny’s eyes, but she swallowed down the emotion and opened the drawer. When her hand closed over the watch, she had to wonder if Ron was right. The need to keep it safe intensified and Ginny had to fight the urge to run. It was almost as though it had more control over her actions than she did.

 

“Let me see it,” Adrianna commanded and the world began to spin. Ginny was blinded by panic. She bit the inside of her lip, trying to concentrate. “ _Ginny_ …”

 

It took Ginny a moment to realize that she was clutching the watch to her chest tightly and shaking her head so quickly it was no wonder she was dizzy, though she had no idea why she couldn’t _breathe_.

 

“Gin,” Harry called, worried. All Ginny could do was laugh, sounding like a nutter even to herself.

 

“Damn it,” Adrianna muttered under her breath, and abruptly changed tactics. When she spoke again her voice was calm and even, in a very deliberate way, completely devoid of anger. It was the way one spoke to a bedlam escapee. “Ginny, you need to give that to me.” She slowly held out her open palm.

 

Trembling violently, Ginny forced her hand out, gut-wrenching sobs threatening. When she got close enough, Adrianna reached for her.

 

Too late, Harry called, “Adrianna, wait!”

 

But Adrianna’s hand had already closed over hers. Ginny braced herself for the familiar sensation, sick with the idea of feeling _that_ with someone other than Harry, but nothing happened. Shocked, Ginny’s grip loosened and the older witch took immediate advantage, snatching the watch from her hand. Ginny sobbed with grief once it was gone, feeling strangely empty inside.

 

“Nothing happened,” Harry said like the idiot he was. Didn’t he care that they had _their_ watch?

 

Hermione shook her head, confused, “It was supposed to—”

 

“Open. It always opens when Ginny and I touch it together,” Harry said softly.

 

Adrianna was examining Ginny’s precious watch, turning it over in her hand, _smudging_ it, trying to pry it apart. Didn’t they just tell her that it couldn’t be opened? She was going to break it. Damn her! What would happen if Helana and Alexi’s story was never told? They needed Harry and Ginny’s help! They were failing them.

 

“It’s a shame we can’t see inside,” Hermione said, sounding genuinely disappointed, in a causally interested sort of way. It was just an intellectual curiosity to her. She had no idea how much this meant.

 

Adrianna sighed deeply. “Well, we probably _should_ see what’s inside, what it does. I may have to try it. Maybe it’s a male-female thing. With Charlie gone maybe I’ll get Bill—”

 

“No!” Ginny didn’t even realize she said it out loud. She was too busy giving in to the voice inside her. She lunged, snatching the watch out of Adrianna’s hands and cradling it to her breast, looking around for escape.

 

“Shite, Ginny,” Ron breathed.

 

But Ginny couldn’t see him. Everything became blurry. People were yelling. She wasn’t sure who. There was a scuffle, hands grabbing at her. Tears streamed down her cheeks. She felt arms engulf her from behind, Harry’s, she knew _that_ without a doubt. He immobilized her, pulling at her arms, trying to get the watch.

 

He mustn’t have been thinking. Either that or Harry was more affected by the magic of the watch than he pretended, because his hand closed over her tightly clenched fist and his fingers brushed the watch. Then they froze, stuck, glued to the watch and each other. The bright glow cut through the haze and the confusion. The ache disappeared, replaced only with pleasure.

 

It was even more intense than the night before. The pleasure built and built, filling her entire body. Ginny felt as though she were literally joined to Harry and she never wanted to be separated again. Oh God. Oh God. She could no longer form full thoughts. She could only gasp and feel.

 

Through it all, Ginny could clearly feel Harry’s erection pressed tightly against her arse. She knew she should be afraid, but just like the day before it only filled her with bliss. She recognized what she was feeling, having just begun to understand with her recent shower explorations what she was racing toward.

 

Then her eyes rolled back into her head and the sensation exploded. It wasn’t until Ginny’s breathing returned to normal that she realized what happened and where and in front of whom. Panting, she looked up and met Ron’s agonized eyes before he pointedly looked away. She had never seen her brother such a violent shade of red.

 

Harry wrenched himself away from her, stumbling over to the bed, and doubling over.

 

“Shit!” Adrianna bit out with irritation. “Well, _now_ we know why you two never told anyone. Damn teenage hormones! _Scourgify!”_ She waved her wand toward Harry, too angry, it seemed, to look at him.

 

Ginny fell onto the edge of the bed, a good distance away from Harry, who pulled his feet up and hugged his knees to him tightly, quite as red as Ron.

 

“That _never_ happened before,” Harry said softly but vehemently.

 

Despite the absolute truth of his words, was met with a room full of skeptical looks. Ginny didn’t even bother to defend him. After _that_ , there was no trust left to work with. Besides, it wasn’t as though Harry had been her chief defender today.

 

“Not _that_ ,” he insisted. “I swear!” Harry spoke directly to Ron, but his friend refused to meet his eyes.

 

Adrianna grunted and pried the watch from Ginny’s now limp fingers. It snapped open in her palm. “November first, 1511,” she read. “I suppose now you’ll have a dream about the events that took place on this day?”

 

“Yes,” Harry whispered.

 

“Have you kept track of the dates?” Adrianna questioned.

 

Her cousin’s eyes snapped up. Harry looked lost and ashamed. “I …”

 

Ginny’s mind started to clear, leaving only humiliation. Oh God, what had she done? What was wrong with her? Why was she behaving this way? She forced herself to speak up, to act responsibly for once, “Yes. I’ve kept a list.”  

 

Harry looked at her with surprise, but she was too drained to care. Let him feel betrayed as well. It didn’t matter. They’d probably have another dream.  But it was dirty now, sullied. To keep from crying and further embarrassing herself, Ginny got up and retrieved the list, handing it over to Adrianna without being asked.

 

Adrianna looked over the list and the watch in turn, remarking, “This is a big jump in dates.” She sounded calm and business like. Was she saving the mortifying lecture for later?

 

Harry stood hesitantly, looking over his cousin’s shoulder. “Oh, but Ginny didn’t write down …” he trailed off, realizing what he was admitting. _Now_ he decided to be cautious. Bloody git. At Adrianna’s dark glare he finished softly, “Last night’s isn’t on there.”

 

Hermione gasped, “You did it _again_? After you knew about the cabin?”

 

Adrianna laughed mirthlessly. “You’re surprised?” She closed the watch with a loud snap and rubbed her eyes, muttering wearily, “So what happened in last one?”

 

Shakily, Harry told his part of the story, skipping the entire beginning, thank God. His version was a little more confusing than Ginny’s, but he couldn’t feel all the emotions she could. “I don’t know what Hilda did to Stephan and his wife. It was really bizarre—”

 

“All their good emotions were sucked out,” Ginny interrupted. She just wanted this to be over. “It’s the same feeling I get when Dementors pass by.”

 

“Dementors—?” Hermione began.

 

Harry shook his head. “I didn’t see—”

 

“It wasn’t Dementors,” Adrianna stated firmly, rubbing the back of her neck and sighing. “It’s just … It’s one of the darker Empath powers.”

 

In the stunned silence that followed they were able to hear a soft knocking, accompanied by muffled yelling. Adrianna quickly lifted the spell on the door and called, “Come in,” leaving the teenagers no time to question her.

 

Mrs. Weasley immediately flung the door open and stumbled in as though she were surprised that the door had opened. Looking around the room warily, she sputtered, “Oh!  It’s just … we’ve been looking everywhere.”

 

Ginny supposed her mother was expecting to walk in on something a little more scandalous than four teenagers and their mentor sitting around in work-out clothing. “I’m sorry,” Adrianna said tiredly, “we were having a lesson and needed some quiet. I didn’t realize how late it had gotten.”

 

What was she…? Adrianna wasn’t covering for them? She couldn’t possibly _keep_ their secret. Hope exploded in Ginny, but then she saw the witch surreptitiously slip the watch into her pocket. What did it even matter if they didn’t have the watch? What did anything matter?

 

“All right, then,” Molly said, seemly undecided about whether she should press the issue. Instead, she settled for placing a concerned, motherly gaze on Adrianna. “How are you feeling, dear?”

 

Adrianna’s eyebrows rose at the endearment, or maybe it was hearing any concern at all coming from Molly Weasley. It was certainly the first time Mrs. Weasley had treated her as anything but an interloper.

 

“Right as rain,” Adrianna drawled, with that old ironic smile. Considering the night before, the comment would have been almost funny, if anyone had actually felt like laughing.

 

“All right,” Molly said, slowly, as if she didn’t quite believe her. “Adrianna, Albus is here and he would like to speak to you.”

 

The only visible sign of anxiety that Adrianna emitted was a long pause, accompanied by an almost imperceptible slow, deep breath. “That’s fine,” she said evenly. “Let me finish up here. I’ll be down in a minute.”

 

Mrs. Weasley nodded, giving them an appraising look before slipping out of the room. As soon as she left, Harry asked quietly, “Are you going to tell them?”

 

Adrianna scoffed. “Of course I’m going to tell them. Do you know how irresponsible it would be not to?” The words cut Ginny on multiple levels. She struggled with the resulting fear, loss, and humiliation. If Adrianna meant to punish her, it was working.

 

The older witch stood and stretched, clearly dreading her trip down those stairs as Hermione stepped forward, anxiously asking, “Adrianna, can you … can you leave out the part about them sharing a room? If they know about them, then they’ll know…” she petered out, bright red staining her cheeks.

 

Instead of disproval, she received a knowing smile from Adrianna. Sure, Hermione wasn’t the one in trouble here. Teacher’s pet. “Then they’ll know about you and Ron. Well, I suppose, we can keep _that_ to ourselves. Someone might as well be having some fun around here,” Adrianna muttered, producing an even brighter blush from Hermione.

 

After what amounted to implicit permission for Hermione and Ron to shag like rabbits, Adrianna smiled grimly, saying pointedly to Hermione. “Just try to keep the peace while I’m gone.”

 

Ginny followed her gaze to Ron. Adrianna’s smile faded as it settled on the tense young wizard. “We want to keep our heads. No need making matters worse,” she warned softly, without recrimination.

 

As she left the room, Ginny left her eyes focused on her brother, wondering if it were even possible for him to follow Adrianna’s advice.

  
  


 

* * * * *

 

 

  


Ron was hurt that it took so long for Harry to tell him about the Prophecy. He was concerned, and maybe a bit irritated, when he realized Harry and Ginny were locked inside a bedroom together. But when it came right down to it, he could brush all that aside.

 

The thing was, in the end, Ron _trusted_ them, his best friend and his sister. They were good people. They wouldn’t hurt each other. Why else would he want them to get together? Ron had spent the most significant portion of his life with Harry, and just about all of it with Ginny. He knew them. At least, he thought he did.

 

It never occurred to him that they would go behind his back, lie to him, forget about him. But even that, Ron could forgive. He was used to being forgotten. He just couldn’t believe that they would do something so stupid, so selfish, that in the process of alienating him, Ginny and Harry had managed to put themselves, each other, and everyone else Ron cared about in danger.

 

Their story was surreal. It couldn’t be real. Ron didn’t want to believe it. Harry and Ginny just wouldn’t do something like this. They _wouldn’t_. But through it all was the expression on Adrianna’s face, making it absolutely clear that they did, and it was just as bad as Ron feared it was.

 

The longer Harry and Ginny spoke, the emptier Ron felt. It was all shattered now, all his illusions. Friendship, trust, Goddamn heroes. To think, Harry had actually been his hero. Was there even any such thing? Was he an idiot to believe that there were people one could trust completely? The thought ate through him like acid, leaving only fury in its wake. And then … and _then_ they pulled out the watch.

 

Ron had never seen his sister under the direct influence of Riddle’s diary. He only saw the after effects. Maybe that was his fault. Maybe he failed as a brother that year, failed to protect Ginny as he eventually failed at everything. But Ron had envisioned what that possession must have looked like, late at night, in the darkness, when he hadn’t been able to escape images.

 

And it looked like _this_. This wild, crazed, irrational person, who had no regard for other people. This person who was _not_ Ron’s sister. _This_ must be what possession by Voldemort looked like.

 

At first, it seemed that Ginny was the only one affected by the Dark magic of the watch, which allowed Ron to turn the full weight of his indictment on Harry. If he wasn’t affected, he _should_ have protected Ginny. But then Harry eyes glazed over as he struggled with Ginny, reaching to grab the watch from her hand. _After_ he had just warned Adrianna not to touch it.

 

Either Harry had lost all his senses, or he wanted to touch the watch. And then it was completely clear that the answer was “both” as Ron was forced to watch the most perverted display of Dark and _sexual_ magic he had ever seen.

 

Not once in his life had Ron actually wanted to _hurt_ Harry. But in that moment, he was in physical pain from the restraint it took to keep from tearing his best friend limb from limb. It was a wonder that he hadn’t become sick on the carpet from the repulsive demonstration. To think he had actually reckoned Harry and Ginny would be good for each other. It was just more proof of his horrible judgment.

 

Somehow, Ron remained completely alert and attentive throughout. Vigilantly, he took in every word that was said around him, like a tiger trapped in a cage, taking in the terrain, readying himself for attack, waiting for the door to open so he could pounce. Ron found himself praying that someone would have the sense to keep the cage firmly locked.

 

But all he got was Adrianna saying, “We want to keep our heads. No need making matters worse.”

 

Ron nodded, hoping he had the self-control necessary to follow her advice. He really doubted it. Self-control was never a strength of his. But now was really not the time to start a fight. There were important things happening and he wasn’t thinking clearly.

 

After Adrianna was gone, tense silence reigned, and Ron’s mind began to cloud. The reasons to remain still slipped from his grasp. Eventually three pairs of eyes came to rest on him. Hermione’s were, appropriately, concerned, Ginny’s hard and defensive, and Harry’s pleading and afraid. The fucking prick _should_ be afraid. Ron needed to get the hell out of that room.

 

“Ron,” Harry began carefully. “Mate, I need to explain—”

 

That was all Ron could stand. He couldn’t listen to another word. Standing abruptly, he shrugged off Hermione’s restraining hand as she called fearfully, “Ron.”

 

He ignored the voices ringing out behind him as he bolted from the room, Harry’s urging him on. “Ron, wait! It's not—”

 

Ginny cut him off, arguing, “Oh, let him go. If he wants to be an arse…”

 

But, _unfortunately,_ no one listened to Ginny, and Ron could hear footsteps pounding behind him. He increased the speed with which he took the stairs, needing as much distance as possible between him and Harry. Otherwise, he was _going_ to do something he regretted.

 

Ron grabbed the doorknob to his room, intending on using an Imperturble to shut himself inside for the rest of the day, but from behind him he heard a shout, “ _Colloportus!”_ And the door in front of him sealed shut.

 

He growled low in his throat. Goddamn Harry! Did he _want_ to get pummeled? Ron turned rapidly, ready to continue up the stairs, but Harry had raced ahead of the girls. Snatching Ron’s arm and yanking him around, Harry grabbed him by both shoulders and pushed him against the wall, trapping him there.

 

“Goddamn, Ron! Will you let me explain! It’s not what it looks like!” Harry screamed.

 

Something inside Ron snapped. “Really, ‘cause it looks like you lied! It looks like you betrayed everyone who cares about you!” He brought both hands up and violently knocked Harry’s hands off of him, bellowing into his face, “I _trusted_ you! You were my _best_ friend! I trusted that you wouldn’t keep things from me, that you’d protect my Goddamn sister, and not let _that_ happen to her again!”

 

Ginny, who had apparently caught up, took immediate offense. “That is none of your—”

 

“Gin, let me fucking handle this!” Harry roared, not breaking his intense and angry eye contact with Ron. “I _am_ protecting her, Ron. I wouldn’t … it’s _not_ like the diary. Voldemort has nothing—”

 

“Really? Then why did _my_ brothers almost die when _Voldemort_ tried to get _that_ watch!” Ron wondered if his fists would start to bleed, he was clenching them so hard.

 

Harry’s jaw tightened, but then he took a step back, saying more calmly, “Look, I know I should have told you sooner—”

 

What Harry _should_ have done was let him leave. Now Ron had been pushed too far and he couldn’t stop. Stepping towards Harry, he bit out, “You think that excuses what you did—”

 

“Ron!” Hermione cried, trying to pry the two boys apart from one another.

 

“Stay out of this,” Ron and Harry yelled together, causing her to start and stumble back in surprise.

 

“I didn’t say I could excuse it,” Harry continued fiercely, ignoring the girls. “I know I can’t, but I _didn’t_ betray you. It wasn’t about you—”

 

“Of course, I wasn’t about me,” Ron spat out, disgusted. “I’m not important enough for it to be about me. Isn’t that right? What would be the point of telling old Ron? Eh? What could _he_ do?”

 

“Don’t start with this shite, Ron,” Harry said more angrily. “You know—”

 

“All I know is that my best friend has been making a slag of my sister—”

 

Ginny’s outraged squeal rang out as fury flashed across Harry’s face, which was exactly as Ron intended. He didn’t want to be the only one out of control in this fight. If Harry insisted on doing this, he didn’t get to be the rational one.

 

Harry came at him and shoved him back, slamming Ron against the wall. “Don’t call her that! I have _nothing_ but respect for—”

 

Ron cut him off with a nasty laugh. “You don’t respect _anything_.” He shoved Harry back, advancing on him. Harry refused to go, pushing him again, harder this time. After several progressively more forceful shoves from both of them, Ron saw red and he pulled back his arm, ready to swing.

 

“Ron, _please_ ,” Hermione screamed, squeezing between them and almost finding herself on the receiving end of Ron’s fist.

 

He jerked his arm back, stumbling a bit. Fuck, if he had hit Hermione … damn it! He had to get the hell out of here. “I’ve had enough of this shite,” Ron announced, again heading for the stairs.

 

“Bloody coward!” Harry shouted behind him, making him freeze. “We’re finishing this!”

 

Ron shook his head. He wasn’t going to let Harry goad him into doing something he’d regret. “Leave me the hell alone!” he yelled as he took the stairs two at a time. Harry hadn’t needed him for weeks, he sure as hell didn’t need him now.

 

Below him, he heard a struggle and Hermione pleading, “Let _me_ go after him. Harry, _please_.”

 

“Harry, you don’t need to do this,” Ginny joined in.

 

But Harry bellowed, “Get _off_ of me,” and then there were footsteps pounding behind him and Ron doubled his pace.

 

Why was Harry so hell bent on getting his face busted in? Ron raced toward the attic, slamming the door closed behind him so it bounced on the hinges. Before he could grab his wand, Harry burst through, turning and yelling out, “ _Colloportus_! _Imperturbis!”_

 

And just like that, Ron was locked in with his bloody bastard of an ex-best friend, who had apparently developed a suicide wish. He spun and faced him. Harry still had his wand raised.

 

“Of course,” Ron sneered, “the Great Harry Potter, standing there with his wand high. Are you going to challenge me to a duel you _know_ I can’t win? Are you going to hex me?”

 

Harry growled, throwing his wand across the room and yelling back, “There! Now say what you have to say to me!”

 

Ron moaned in frustration, turning away and running his hands over his face roughly, pulling at his hair. “I have _nothing_ to say to you,” he grunted out, hoping beyond hope that Harry would just leave.

 

“Then hit me!” Harry taunted, but Ron just shook his head, his jaw and fists clenching compulsively. “Then you’ll bloody well listen to me,” Harry said more calmly, taking deep breaths. “I didn’t do any of this to hurt you, or Ginny. I realize I did, but I … I care about her, I wouldn’t … we made a mistake in not telling—”

 

“You’re a _liar_!” Ron bellowed back, the words ripped from him. “A fucking liar.”

 

Harry jerked back, wincing, his face draining of color. In a shocked voice, he insisted, “It’s the Goddamned truth.”

 

“You’re a _liar_!” Ron repeated. Harry must have told dozens … _hundreds_ of lies over the last few weeks to keep this bloody secret. “You don’t care about anyone but yourself. Mr. Self-Righteous, Mr. I’m-going-to-save-the-world-all-by-my-bloody-self only cares about _himself_ , only _needs_ himself!”

 

Harry looked stunned, clearly hurt by Ron’s rant. Good, he wanted Harry to be in just as much pain as Ron was at that moment. Panting with exertion, Ron let the last remnants of his self-control slip away. That was what Harry wanted, right?

 

“You certainly don’t need your stupid, bumbling best friend. He’s supposed to stay in line, wait patiently next to the great one, not question. He’s supposed to just stand there and wank, telling stupid jokes and being the bleeding whipping boy.”

 

Anger flashed across Harry’s pale features. “Don’t give me that ‘poor me’ shite. Your pathetic self-pity is ruining your life and I’ve had enough—”

 

“As if I care what _you’ve_ had enough of! You say you care about my sister. You _say_ you care about her, yet you put her in danger, let her be _possessed_ —”

 

“She was _not_ possessed! It wasn’t like that!” Harry’s voice rose with every word, his face becoming red with fury. “Don’t talk about what you know _nothing_ about!”

 

“Know nothing, eh? Whose fault is that? Well, I know my so-called best friend has been turning my sister, someone _else’s_ girlfriend, into your … _whore_!”

 

Harry reeled back as if hit, rage twisting his features. “You’re one to talk,” he hissed. “What about Hermione? You say you care about her, yet you’re taking advantage of her!”

 

Ron hadn’t thought it possible to become more infuriated. “You don’t know shite about me and Hermione,” he said in a quieter but much more dangerous tone.

 

“If I don’t know, that’s because _you_ never told _me_!” Harry yelled, throwing Ron’s words back at him.

 

“Is that what this is about? Revenge?”

 

“This is about you being a hypocrite. Maybe I would have told you about the watch if you had been around, if you hadn’t been busy turning _my_ best friend into _your_ whore. Hermione’s not your girlfriend either, Ron.”

 

In a white-hot explosion of rage, Ron advanced, shoving Harry hard with two hands to his chest. “Shut your fucking mouth!”

 

“Make me!” Harry grabbed Ron’s shoulders, steadying himself before shoving Ron back with all his strength, sending him stumbling. “Hit me, Ron! Hit me, Goddamn you!”

 

All Ron saw in the burst of red that encompassed his vision was the green of Harry’s eyes, behind the flash of his glasses, just before he pulled back his right arm and let it fly.

 

 

 

  
* * * * *

 


	38. Fix What You Can

Of all the horrifying things Hermione had seen over the last few days, seeing her two best friends reduced to a fistfight might have been the worst. How had things come to _this_? She fought panic. Her world was crumbling. Bit by bit, the house of cards that was her life was falling apart.

 

Running up the stairs as fast as her legs would carry her, Hermione cursed their short length as Harry and Ron took the steps two and three at a time ahead of her. She arrived at the attic door just in time for it to slam in her face. She scrambled for her wand, but it was too late. A blue light flashed.

 

Hermione cried out in frustration. Goddamn, them! They needed her! Why did they _never_ realize that? Her heart rate was uncomfortably fast as she imagined what Ron might do in his fury. Why did Harry have to push him? Without thinking, she slammed her fists against the Imperturbable.

 

“Don’t be an idiot,” Ginny barked as she arrived on the landing. “You know what happened to Ron when he hit an Imperturbable.”

 

Anger unfurled in Hermione’s stomach. How dare she? This was all Ginny’s fault.  Her and her ruddy watch, her damn selfish arrogance. Hermione turned, lashing out, “Idiot? That’s quite nice, coming from you.”

 

 “What the hell does that mean?” Ginny snapped defensively.

 

Ginny’s defensive, patronizing attitude made Hermione sick. Even now, with all the trouble she’d caused, she wouldn’t give it up. Ron and Harry could knock each other unconscious on other side of this blasted door. They could be seriously hurt, and Hermione wouldn’t be able to get to them. All while Ginny stood there snipping at her.

 

Hermione turned the full force of her anger and frustration on the girl staring at her so unwaveringly. “It means this whole thing with the watch was _idiotic_ , Ginny! You of all people should know not to trust enchanted—”

 

“Don’t you think I _know_ that!” Ginny screamed back. Then she repeated, more quietly, “Don’t you think I know that?” The second was said in a distraught, defeated voice as her defensiveness crumbled, and she sunk down on her haunches, burying her head in her hands.

 

Blinking down at her, Hermione tried to wrap her mind around the sudden change as she glanced back and forth between the barrier that kept her from her best friends and the distressed girl at her feet. What was she supposed to do now? Why did _she_ always have to be the only rational one? She didn’t know what to do any more than anyone else did.

 

A sob escaped Ginny and the last of Hermione’s anger evaporated. Well, since Ginny wasn’t separated from her by a magical barrier, Hermione supposed she took priority. For now anyway. Dropping to her knees beside her friend, Hermione tried to

think of something supportive to say, but instead she wound up asking, “Why, Ginny?”

 

“I …” Ginny took a deep shaky breath. She spoke into her hands as she said, “I just wanted to be close to him, Hermione. That’s all I’ve _ever_ wanted. It’s pathetic, I know, but I can’t help it.”

 

A wave of empathetic understanding hit Hermione like a slow, thorough wash of cold water, chilling her from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. The words could have come from her own mouth. How could she possibly blame Ginny when her own behavior was no better?

 

When Hermione finally found her voice again, she breathed, “Yeah, I think I can understand that. Being irrational over a boy, I mean.”

 

Ginny allowed her hands to slip away, revealing her shining, sodden face. She stared at Hermione for long minutes, looking both desperate and afraid. Finally, she confessed softly, “At first, I was just so excited. It was something Harry wanted to share _just_ with me. I lost control without even realizing it was happening, but I just … I didn’t want to lose that closeness, you know? It was _wonderful_.”

 

Hermione closed her eyes tightly, thinking about what happened between her and Ron the night before. Was what she had done so different? “So, you still have feelings for Harry, then?” she asked, looking at her friend once more.

 

Ginny laughed in a bitter way that clearly indicated that she did. Swallowing, Hermione gathered her courage to ask an even more invasive question, “Then why are you dating Dean?”

 

This time, Ginny’s laugh was hard and dark in a way that didn’t quite suit one so young. Fresh tears flowed down her face as she wiped her nose with her sleeve, sniffling. Strange how she could look so young and so old at the same time. “You must think I’m a slag?”

 

Hermione frowned. Slag? Honestly, as if _she_ should be throwing stones. “No, I … I don’t think that at all. I just don’t understand—”

 

 “It’s so easy for you,” Ginny accused, saying the most absurd thing Hermione had _ever_ heard. Her anger flared again. Wasn’t Ginny paying any attention to how messed up her life was? To how poorly her plan with Ron was going?

 

“ _Nothing_ is easy for me!” she snapped. How dare Ginny insinuate … Hermione wasn’t the one who had two bloke's competing for her, not to mention a brother fighting for her honor. Hermione was the one who was reduced to petty manipulation to get the man she loved. She was pitiful. “At least you have a boyfriend. I don’t know what I have.”

 

Ginny winced, turning her eyes away. Hermione caught a brief look of shame. Was it for dating Dean or unfairly judging Hermione?

 

Quietly, Ginny finally answered, “I’m dating Dean because … because he’s nice and his mother’s sick and because … because he _asked_. He asked and Harry didn’t.” She laughed tearily. “Pretty sad, huh?”

 

Hermione couldn’t answer, because frankly, it was. They were both _sad_. After a long moment of silence, Ginny asked softly, “Don’t tell Harry … just don’t tell him any of this, all right?”

 

“Yeah. Of course,” Hermione answered automatically. It wouldn’t be until much later that she’d wonder if she’d been rash in answering.

 

“What am I going to do?” Ginny asked, tears heavy in her voice.

 

Hermione could do nothing but shake her head as she thought of her own convoluted love life. “I’m the last person to give advice. I don’t even know what I …” She took a deep breath, trying to still the panic building in her belly. “All I know right now is that if Ron and Harry aren’t out of that attic in twenty minutes, I’m marching downstairs and dragging Professor Dumbledore, himself, up here to get them out.”

 

  
  


* * * * *

 

  
  


Harry had several reasons for goading Ron into hitting him. None of them would sound very good to someone like Hermione, but they made sense to Harry. As much as _anything_ made sense to him anymore.

 

At first, he was motivated by the blind panic and guilt produced by the horrifying expression that had settled on Ron’s face the minute Adrianna had discovered their secret. It never occurred to Harry that his best friend would take his not telling him about the watch as a betrayal, not until he saw that look. He hadn’t expected Ron to be _happy_ about it, but, well, it made sense that Harry hadn’t thought it through. He always was a selfish prick.

 

Now, he just needed to fix this. Harry _had_ to wipe that look off of Ron’s face. Quickly. And it was abundantly clear that talking wasn’t going to do it. This wasn’t Hermione. Logic and reason weren’t going to get through to Ron. Hell, in the state he was in, Ron couldn’t even _listen_ to him.

 

So, Harry reckoned if Ron would just hit him, it would make them even, get all of _this_ out of the way. They could go back to normal. Harry couldn’t deal with the Order’s inquisition and Ron’s … he _needed_ Ron.

 

And, really, didn’t Harry deserve to be hit? Shouldn’t Ginny’s brothers pummel him into a bleeding pulp for what he’d done? Shite, _he’d_ pummel anyone who had done to her what he’d done.

 

He should never have listened to Ginny when she said it was safe, when she said she could take care of herself. He should have known it was just like the diary. If Harry hadn’t been so damn selfish, if he wasn’t so desperate for a connection, maybe he could have done the right thing for once.

 

But in the end, when it came right down to it, Harry just wanted a fight. Ron said the magic words. “Not your girlfriend.” In that moment, Ron couldn’t have thrown a more painful punch, couldn’t have cut him more deeply. Harry attacked, needing to hurt as well as be hurt, hit as well as be hit.

 

His anger at the situation was overwhelming, and with no one to blame it on he lashed out at Ron, the one whose justifiable rage had turned into unfair accusations. What was Harry to do but throw out a few of his own?

 

Harry wished he could say that he didn’t mean the things he said about Ron and Hermione, but on some level he did. He hadn’t even realized how confused and upset he was with their situation until the awful insults exploded from his mouth.

 

And so, Ron hit him. Bringing up Hermione finally pushed him over the edge. Harry’s goal was achieved and he received his first ever fist to the face.

 

As Harry swung back, it occurred to him that he’d never been in a full-out fistfight before. He’d come close, with Malfoy and his thugs, but there had always been someone close by to keep it from going too far. There was no one to stop them now.

 

The thing no one thought about when they started a fight, especially the first time, was it _hurts_. Quite a lot really. The anger and adrenaline kept Harry going, and quite frankly the act of punching itself felt rather good, but it was always followed by a surprisingly awful explosion of pain as Ron met him punch for punch.

 

Quickly, the pain began to overwhelm him, and Harry started to wonder what the hell he was trying to prove. It didn’t take long for his anger to dissipate completely. He assumed it was the same for Ron because soon they were lying, side-by-side, on the dusty attic floor, panting and staring at the ceiling.

 

It felt as if the fight were over in minutes, but it could have been an hour for all Harry knew. He was pretty sure he had a head injury. Or two. Damn, Ron could hit hard. Harry’s vision was blurry, though that was probably because his glasses had been knocked across the room, undoubtedly broken as well. He hoped Hermione would forgive him enough to repair them for him.

 

Through the throbbing in his head, Harry was aware of the metallic taste of blood. Though his lip was split and swollen, he was pretty sure the majority of it was from the blood trickling down from his nose, which was very likely broken. It was _definitely_ at least twice its normal size. This made the wallops he got from Dudley and his friends as a kid seem like child’s play.

 

Ron had some serious power locked inside of him. It was good to know, really. They all needed to know how to fight. It actually made Harry proud that his best mate could hold his own, even if it _was_ against him. They could do some serious damage if they worked together.

 

Glancing blurrily at Ron, he could just make out the purple of his swollen eye. Seemed their training paid off for both of them. Harry briefly wondered if Adrianna would be proud of him. Once she got finished hexing him into next year, that was.

 

“So,” Ron said hoarsely, speaking for the first time since the fight began. Harry braced himself. Please, let Ron forgive him, let him understand. “Do you fancy her?”

 

No amount of bracing could prepare him for _that_. “Who?” Harry asked in a stupid, squeaky tone, as he wondered who the hell he was trying to fool. But how was he supposed to answer that? Was there an answer that he could give that _wouldn’t_ make Ron even angrier?

 

Ron made a low, frustrated noise before snapping, “You _know_ who. My sister.”

 

Great. Well, Harry’s brilliant playing-it-dumb strategy only served to buy him all of five seconds and as well as Ron’s increasing irritation. Harry swallowed, fighting the strong impulse to lie, but that would only prove Ron’s accusations correct and further muck things up. He didn’t want to live a life without Ron as his best mate.

 

“Yeah,” Harry forced out.

 

His admission was met with silence. Harry couldn’t bring himself to look over to see Ron’s reaction. Was he disgusted? Angry? Was he trying to find the strength to punch him again?

 

“So, why aren’t you together?” Ron finally asked. He said it softly, almost as if that’s what he wanted, as if he’d approve of Harry dating his sister. After everything … it was the most painful thing Ron could have said.

 

“Because she _chose_ Dean,” Harry bit out, flinching at the wave of hurt the words produced.

 

“But—”

 

Harry couldn’t go on with this conversation. Desperate, he quickly diverted, “Do _you_ fancy Hermione?” After he asked it, Harry realized just how much he needed to hear Ron admit it.

 

Ron gave a bitter bark of a laugh in response. “What do you think?”

 

“Do you?” Harry asked again, unsure if he should really be pressing, but unable to help himself.

 

“Obviously,” Ron snapped.

 

Harry took a deep, slow breath. Of course, it was obvious to _him_ , but … he needed to tread carefully with this. Quietly, he said, “I don’t think it’s obvious to Hermione.”

 

“Good.”

 

Harry's brow wrinkled at the quick answer. He wanted to tell Ron how daft that was. He wanted to ask when had Ron become so damn bitter and pessimistic. He wanted to ask why he’d never told Hermione how he felt. No, Harry wanted to tell— _demand_ Ron tell their mutual best friend _exactly_ how he felt. But there must have been one last drop of self-preservation left inside on him, because Harry kept those thoughts to himself.

 

Instead, Harry threw Ron’s words back at him, “So, why aren’t _you_ together?” He didn’t realize until after he asked it that it was the most aggressive thing he could have said.

 

Ron growled, even surlier than before. “That’s obvious as well.”

 

Harry couldn’t help but snort in disbelief, but he tempered it the best he could by saying softly, “Mate, _really_ it isn’t.” He glanced over to see Ron’s reaction, wondering what sort of mad reasoning was getting his best friends into this barmy situation.

 

“This is the way Hermione wants it,” Ron replied irritably, not looking at Harry.

 

Yeah, _this_ is what Hermione wants. How thick can he get? Carefully, out of deference to their currently fragile friendship, Harry asked, “You sure about that?”

 

“If she wanted it to be different, it would be.”

 

Harry swallowed, becoming increasingly anxious. Should he tell Ron about his conversation with Hermione? She made it clear she didn’t want Harry to interfere, but … this was getting ridiculous. Ron couldn’t have it more wrong.

 

“Maybe Hermione is just waiting for you to make the first move,” Harry suggested cautiously. That wasn’t really betraying her confidence, was it? He’d said “maybe.”

 

Ron laughed bitterly. His expression was difficult to decipher what with Harry currently half-blind and Ron’s face swollen up like a puffer fish. “Honestly, Harry. We both know I’m not good enough for Hermione.”

 

Rolling over, Harry stared at his friend with narrowed eyes. Was he serious? He knew Ron had poor self-confidence, but this was absurd. Did Ron really _believe_ that? “That’s completely daft!” Harry burst out, before he had a chance to come up with something better. Great. That was just great. Insulting him should really help. Shite, this sort of thing was Hermione’s job. “I mean to say, you’re perfect for Hermione.”

 

Snorting, Ron muttered, “Well, you’re the only one who thinks so.”

 

Goddamn it. There were rules for this sort of thing, weren’t there? For telling what one knows when one of your friends fancied another friend? There _had_ to be rules. Harry just didn’t know what they were. Ginny would know, but he certainly couldn’t ask her. It seemed ridiculous to lay here and not say anything.

 

“I’m pretty sure that Hermione thinks so as well,” Harry whispered. Maybe if he made it sound like it was _his_ opinion it would be ok. But Ron shook his head, denying what Harry knew to be the truth. “Ron—”

 

“Even if she did,” Ron broke in irately, “it ... she’d realize the truth eventually. It wouldn’t work.”

 

Frustrated, Harry sat up, wincing in pain as his muscles protested and his nose throbbed. “I don’t understand, Ron? Where does this poor self-esteem shite come from? Why wouldn’t you be good enough for Hermione? She’s been your best friend forever.”

 

“It’s obvious—”

 

Not this again. “It is _not_ obvious!” Damn, Ron was stubborn. How did Harry end up with the two most stubborn best friends in the wizarding world? Three, if he counted Ginny. Ron only shrugged in response, _stubbornly_ refusing to answer. It was enough to make a person go around the bend. Two or threes times.

 

“Have you even told her you fancy her?” he tried, but there was no answer. Of course not. It would be _logical_ to answer. “Maybe you should let her decide if you’re good enough, instead of just giving up.”

 

Harry didn’t know how he expected Ron to react to something like that, no matter how gently he said it. He should have known it wouldn’t go over well.

 

“Did you tell Ginny?” Ron threw back, heatedly. “When she _chose_ Dean, did she even know you were an option?”

 

Shite. Fuck. Harry should have kept his mouth shut. That’s what he got for trying to help. “It’s not exactly the same.”

 

“Right.”

 

This new bitter laugh of Ron’s was really beginning to annoy him. Harry had to remind himself that he had been in the wrong today. Besides, this wasn’t just Ron’s happiness he was talking about, but Hermione’s as well. “Look, do you want me to talk to Hermione—”

 

“No!”

 

“I could—”

 

“I swear Harry,” Ron warned in a dangerous tone, finally rolling to look at him, “if you say _anything_ to her, I’ll … I’ll … I’ll tell Ginny you fancy her.”

 

Harry took a sharp hissing breath. “You _wouldn’t_!”

 

“I bloody well would! Try me.” With a hard look on his face, Ron demanded, “Swear you won’t tell Hermione any of this! Swear it!”

 

Did Ron have any concept of how he was completely sabotaging himself? Damn him. Then Harry imagined Ron telling Ginny … “Fine, but—”

 

“So, how far did you two go?” Ron asked, leaving Harry disoriented by the quick change of subject.

 

“What?” he squeaked, feeling as though he might actually choke on his own tongue.

 

“You and my sister. How far did you go? Physically? I mean you slept in the same room for weeks, right?”

 

Harry could only stare at Ron, his black eye shining glaringly at him, reminding him of his sins. Would Ron even believe the truth? Well, one thing was for sure, if Ron was looking for a way to divert the conversation he’d succeeded.

 

When Harry didn’t answer immediately, Ron frowned. “Reckon that means I don’t want to know, eh?”

 

It took Harry a few seconds to catch his meaning. “What? No. _No_! I mean, we never … we never even kissed.” Oh God, it was humiliating when he thought about it. Maybe he should have kissed her. Would things be different now if he had?

 

Ron rolled his eyes. Well, his one good eye anyway, the other was swollen shut. “You were _locked_ in a room together. All night.”

 

“I swear, mate. I’d tell you. Not one kiss. We were in the same room because I— _we_ thought it would be safer to be together when we had the dreams and the Imperturbable … honestly, mate, I have no idea why Ginny put that up. I reckon she didn’t want us to be caught with the watch.” That worked well.

 

Ron’s good eye narrowed. “That’s all? Because what I saw—”

 

Harry winced. “Look, we … sure touching the watch together always felt good. Each time it was more intense, but that last …” Crap, this was humiliating. “ _That_ had never happened before. I swear!”

 

Ron took a deep breath and lay back down. Did he believe Harry? He seemed to, but, even so, Ron’s questions just got harder. “So, why did you do it? Why did you keep having the dreams? Why didn’t you tell ... _anyone_?”

 

Shite. “I was an idiot.” It was the best answer Harry had, though somehow he knew it wouldn’t be enough. Taking a deep breath, he continued, “I just liked having a secret, just me and Ginny. Everybody else seemed to have theirs and when we started it seemed so harmless. Then later, I knew it was wrong, that we should have stopped it for her sake, but Ginny kept saying she could make her own decisions, saying that she didn’t want me to protect her. I shouldn’t have listened to her. I’m so sorry, Ron.”

 

Harry flopped back onto the hard floor, not caring that the movement made his head pound. Fuck, he was worse than an idiot. He was a complete prick. It would serve him right if Ron never forgave him.

 

But instead, Ron muttered softly, “You were under a spell. You weren’t yourself.”

 

Ron was excusing Harry’s actions. He was forgiving him. A tremendous weight lifted, leaving Harry almost giddy with relief. It was just the sort of friend Ron was and Harry didn’t deserve him. “I still should have told you and Hermione. There’s no excuse.”

 

“Yeah, well,” Ron said in a more familiar, light tone. “I reckon you’re not perfect after all.” The sentiment was so ridiculous that Harry snorted, causing Ron to chuckle.

 

Harry struggled to sit up again. For some reason it was even more difficult the second time around. Groping for his glasses, he found them not nearly as damaged as he thought. He could actually see out of _one_ of the lenses, though they were wretchedly painful as they rested on his battered nose.

  

“Looking good, mate,” Ron remarked with a smile.

 

“You should see yourself,” Harry retorted as Ron’s shinny eye finally came into focus. They smiled at each other. Stupid, swollen, bloody smiles. If Hermione could see them now.

 

Feeling brave with their newfound openness, Harry asked, “So, how far have you and Hermione gone?” Ron blushed and averted his eyes. “More than snogging then?” Harry was surprised at how genuinely curious he was.

 

“Yeah,” Ron replied in a small voice.

 

“You haven’t—”

 

“No! You know I wouldn’t … I wouldn’t _shag_ Hermione,” Ron insisted, causing Harry’s eyebrows to rise. He hadn’t even considered that they’d shagged. This _was_ Hermione they were talking about. But it was interesting how quickly Ron’s mind had jumped there.

 

“Not under our current … _arrangement_ , anyway,” Ron muttered, quickly growing morose again. The last thing Harry needed was Ron thinking he was judging him.

          

“Right. Of course.” Harry agreed. “I _know_ that. So, then you’ve—”

 

“We’ve … touched a bit.”

 

“Above the waist?” If Harry pretended that they weren’t talking about Hermione, this was actually kind of fun.

 

There was a moment of silence and Harry became convinced Ron wasn’t going to answer. Then he said, “And below.”

 

Whoa! “You or her?”

 

“Both.”

 

Wow. Shite. Harry really shouldn’t ask any more. This was none of his business. Hermione was like a sister to him. “How was it?” he asked eagerly.

 

A slow smile came over Ron’s face. “Brilliant.”

 

“Wow.” Now he was jealous. How fucked up was that?

 

Before Harry could ask more, Ron cut him off, saying, “You should really open the door, mate. Your nose looks really bad and Hermione won’t last long before she drags the entire Order up here to knock the wall down.”

 

Back to reality then. At least Ron called him “mate.” That was good, right? “Oh yeah? Well, you should see your eye.”

 

Ron’s hand shot up. He winced as he came into contact with the bruised skin. Chuckling, he said, “Yeah. That was a good shot.”

 

God, he loved Ron. Who could ask for a better friend? “Well, you’ve got one hell of a right hook,” Harry replied, smiling. They laughed together. Harry could tell Ron was pleased with the compliment.

 

Confident that he and Ron were ok, Harry lifted his wand and lowered the spells on the door. Immediately, Hermione stumbled through, Ginny close behind, as though they had been leaning on the doorknob waiting for it to give way.

 

“Oh dear heavens. My … what have you _done_?” Hermione gasped, covering her mouth with her hands. She looked about ready to burst into tears at the sight of them. They did look right frightening. Harry suppressed a smile.

 

Hermione stumbled forward, looking back and forth between them as though she couldn’t decide who to go to first. “God! We need to go get help.”

 

Ginny caught her arm as she turned to head for the stairs. “No, I … I can take care of this. I’ll get Mum’s kit.”

 

Hermione’s eyes flashed. “Ginny, this isn’t the time—”

 

“We’re in enough trouble, Hermione,” Ginny pleaded softly. It was a fair change from her earlier defiant attitude.

 

“Ginny—”

 

“We’re fine,” Ron interrupted from the floor. Then contradicted himself by groaning.

 

“You’re _not_ fine!” Hermione snapped.

 

“If I can’t do it, I’ll get Mum,” Ginny assured quickly, already halfway out the door. Hermione frowned after her, but for his part, Harry was grateful. He had enough trouble. Thank God for Ginny, resourceful and smart—Goddamn it! Goddamn _her_.

 

Clenching her teeth, Hermione turned to the boys, her hands naturally going to her hips. “I can’t _believe_ the two of you!” And the inevitable lecture began. Harry stifled a groan. “What if you had been seriously injured and we couldn’t get through that door. What if—?”

 

“We’re fine,” Ron insisted again, irritably, as he struggled to sit up for the first time. Then he cried out in pain and fell back, his breathing ragged. Harry’s heart rate increased. Shite, had he seriously hurt him? He didn’t think. Damn it.

 

“Ron!” Hermione cried tearfully, now easily choosing between them and flying to Ron’s side, which was probably where she wanted to be in the first place. “I can’t believe you two daft …” And the lecture began in earnest.

 

Ron protested half-heartedly, before relaxing under Hermione’s soothing hands. They fluttered over him with careful reverence, in direct opposition to her angry tone as she continued her tirade on the foolishness of their actions and “boys” in general.

 

Harry did his best to block her out and Ron didn’t seem to even hear her. When she pushed his hands away to pull up his sweaty and blood speckled tee shirt, Ron stared at her with an odd mix of need and adoration. The look only deepened when she gasped in horror at the large bruise across his ribs and whispered thickly, “Oh, Ron.”

 

How could they not see how the other one felt? Even Harry could see it and he couldn’t see anything. Well, not of this nature anyway. Maybe if he just told … but he couldn’t. He was stuck now. Not only did Ron have his word, but he had significant and _powerful_ blackmail information as well.

 

“And look at you, Harry. Your _nose_ ,” Hermione said in an almost whimper. From the look on her face, it must be pretty bad. Now that he thought about, there was a frightening crunch sound when Ron made contact with it. “Can you even breathe?”

 

Through his mouth, he could. “Yeah. Of course,” Harry assured and for the first time he noticed how odd and nasally his voice sounded.

 

Hermione frowned still deeper, shaking her head in frustration. “At least let me see your glasses.” She held out her hand and Harry gladly handed them over, trying to hide his wince as they scraped the bridge of his nose.

 

By the time Hermione was finished fixing his glasses, Ginny was back, out of breath and looking a bit frantic. But as soon as she stepped through the door she put on a good show of drawing herself up and placing her hands on her hips, she looked right hacked off. “I don’t even know which of you two idiots I should start with. Neither of your behavior deserves—”

 

“You know what, Ginny?” Ron snapped, heatedly. “You go heal Harry and leave me the hell alone!” He tried to get up quickly, but only managed to get to his knees before doubling over, clutching his ribs and panting, not even able to acknowledge Hermione as she grabbed his arm to steady him.

 

“Bloody hell, Ron,” Ginny cried in a thick, harsh tone. She was next to him in a second, irritably pushing Hermione away and pulling Ron’s arms from his chest. He took a hissing breath as her hands pressed on his ribs. Shaking her head, Ginny pulled out a vial. “I think you broke a rib. Here, take two sips of this,” she commanded, but couldn’t seem to look into his eyes.

 

Ron frowned and narrowed his eyes at her, but he took his potion. Then, as he handed it back to her, his expression changed. “Ginny, have you been crying?”

 

She shook her head rapidly. But mere seconds later, her face crumpled, making Harry’s heart twist as she buried her face in her hands and let out a gut-wrenching sob.

 

“Gin,” Ron whispered soothingly. Cradling his sister’s head, he pulled her into an embrace, further proving his emotional ineptitude was entirely in his head.

 

Ginny clutched her brother’s shoulder, her sobs giving way as she gasped, “I’m _so_ sorry. It’s all my fault. All of it.”

 

“It’s ok. No one’s perfect, Gin. Not even Harry here,” Ron said cheekily, his lopsided smile making Hermione grunt in disapproval.

 

But it had the desired affect. Ginny laughed tearfully, sniffing and wiping her nose with her shirt sleeve. “Lie back now,” she ordered in an artificially sure tone, sounding like a child play-acting at being a Healer.

 

Ron lay patiently while Ginny carefully healed his ribs and eye. When she was done he sat up easily and Ginny turned toward Harry, crawling over. Harry’s breath hitched as watched her come to kneel before him.

 

“Oh Harry, your nose,” she gasped, echoing Hermione’s words from before. It was probably a good thing that Harry couldn’t see it himself. He had a weak stomach. Ginny’s hand fluttered a bit before landing on the offending appendage and causing Harry to wince at the sharp pain that lanced through him. “It’s broken,” Ginny announced.

 

Well, Harry figured as much. In a choked, nasally voice, he attempted to joke, “Yeah, but I broke Ron’s ribs, so, you know, my masculinity is still intact.” He earned an eye roll from Ginny, though he could tell she was suppressing a smile. A snort from Hermione showed that she wasn’t so amused, despite, or perhaps because of, Ron’s good-natured chuckle.

 

“Drink this,” Ginny commanded in a low, husky voice that left Harry embarrassingly tingly.

 

Clearing his throat, Ron stood abruptly. “I’m going to clean up.”

 

Harry pulled back from Ginny’s tending hands. “What? Ron, you don’t—”

 

“No worries, mate. I just need a shower.” Though Ron’s tone was far from bright, he smiled reassuringly and Harry nodded. They were going to be ok.

 

“Ron?” Hermione called as he made for the door.

 

He didn’t look back at her, just muttered, “See you later then,” and disappeared out the door.

 

The look on Hermione’s face as Ron left — Ow! Shite. Harry was distracted by blinding pain as Ginny roughly straightened his nose, making him cry out. Then she began a series of spells and suddenly he could breathe again. Wow. Brilliant.

 

Turning back to Hermione, Harry found her still staring after Ron with a look of longing on her face. Oh yeah, she _likes_ the current arrangement. She doesn’t want more.

 

“Hermione, um …” Just because Harry couldn’t repeat what Ron said didn’t mean he couldn’t … _nudge_ a bit. “You can, you know …” He gestured clumsily for the door. “I don’t mind.”

 

“Right. Yes,” Hermione said distractedly, quickly standing. “I’ll just go make sure everything’s all right. Downstairs. You all right here?” At Harry’s nod, Hermione took a deep breath and disappeared out the door.

 

Harry became suddenly, intensely aware that he and Ginny were left alone in the attic. Fuck! She touched her wand carefully to his face and met his eyes, but it was too intense and he had to look away.

 

“I’m hacked off at you,” Ginny announced.

 

That pulled his eyes back to hers. “Yeah?” Harry wondered which of his multiple sins were bothering her. It could be a combination of several, but knowing Ginny she was probably annoyed for some daft reason, like he’d been _too_ protective, when the real problem was he hadn’t been protective enough.

 

“Did you have to tell Adrianna _everything_?” Ginny asked irritably.

 

Harry was right. Daft. “Ginny, we were caught. Adrianna was reading us like a book. What was I supposed to do?”

 

“I dunno. We could have stuck together.”

 

Harry could only blink at her. The only argument he could think of was that if Ginny hadn’t gone completely around the twist down there, they could have _stuck together_. But that probably was not the best strategy right now, so he said nothing.

 

“All done,” Ginny muttered, sitting back, clearly annoyed.

 

Great. Now, what was he —a sudden rush of exhaustion hit Harry like a freight train, leaving him dizzy. “Ginny, what are the symptoms of a concussion?”

 

“Why?” Ginny asked, her voice at once concerned, but Harry couldn’t see her face as his eyes were already closing.

 

“I can’t keep my eyes open. You’re not supposed to sleep after a concussion, right?”

 

“Harry!” Ginny cried in alarm. He kind of liked the way it sounded. She grabbed his shoulders, trying to hold him up as his suddenly laden body started to sink back down onto the floor. “Open your eyes. Oh God.”

 

It took Harry a moment, but he managed to force his eyes open. Though by the time he did, Ginny’s grip had loosened and she was slumped against him. “You …ok?” he struggled to say.

 

“Umm hmm,” she nodded, then shook her head, clearly confused. “Harry, I think it’s the watch. It wants us to sleep.”

 

“But … but it’s not night. It always waits until night. Even when we touch it earlier—”

 

Her head flopped against his chest as Ginny shook her head. “Iss getting’ stronger. The watch’s powers—”

 

“It’s not even near us, Adrianna has …” Harry mumbled in a heavy slurred voice as he finally fell to the floor, Ginny collapsing on top of him. This was not good. “We can’t do this. We need to get someone. We need to get help ...”

 

Harry was hot and sweaty, surrounded by darkness and softness. He couldn’t open his eyes and he was, oh God, hard as a rock. Not again! When was this torture going to _end_? A soft, smooth, _starkers_ body was wreathing against him … Fuck!

 

His eyes opened and Harry saw Helana sprawled out beneath him, her red-blond hair tussled and splayed around her head, her checks and, God, her breasts flushed and covered with a fine, glistening sheen of sweat. Her skin was slick where their abdomens were pressed tightly together.

 

Alexi pulled himself up on his outstretched arms, panting and grinding into her bare flesh. Shite. This was too much. Ginny … Harry couldn’t stand it.

 

Then Alexi and Helana leaned into each other, in perfect synchrony, and they were kissing and, shite, it was brilliant. Alexi shifted and Harry felt something slick and hot and so fucking amazing pressed against his cock. Holy shite. Oh God.  Was that …? This _wasn’t_ happening.

 

Alexi shifted his hips back and Harry could feel the tip of his cock posed at what was undoubtedly Helana’s entrance. Oh no, no, no, no, no …

 

  
  


* * * * *

 

  


Still wet from his overlong, girl-length shower, Ron was finding that the silence of his room was not nearly as comforting as he thought it would be. And as much as he’d craved the comforting blankness of a good ceiling stare, he was starting to wonder if all he would succeed in doing was driving himself nutters.

 

Ron’s anger at Harry and Ginny was gone, driven out by his sister’s tears and Harry’s … well, fists. Despite Hermione’s insistence that, “violence never solved anything,” ( _which_ she managed to turn into quite a lengthy lecture upstairs) it was amazing how successful violence could be at resolving some things.

 

Ron had gone from the sharp pains of betrayal and the surety that his friendship with Harry was damaged beyond repair, to a rapidly dissipating annoyance in a matter of an hour. All that was left was a lingering sting to his pride. Actually, it was strange, but when it was all said and done, he had never felt closer to Harry.

 

It was fitting that Ron shared his first real brawl with Harry. He had always thought he would, though he _had_ imagined they would be on the same side. But more than that, Ron felt, for perhaps the first time in his life, as though he were on even ground with his best friend. In this, Harry was no better or worse than he was. He was just a bloke, one who made mistakes. Big ones.

 

Even though, there was something … unsettling about Harry being knocked off of his hero pedestal, Ron supposed it was better this way. Harry was more touchable now, more human. Now, they were able to talk in a way they never could before. Even if they did chose to talk about things that Ron would rather leave unsaid.

 

Regardless, it was clear that, for once, Hermione was wrong. Violence solved quite a lot. Several hours ago, he and Harry had rowed over some serious shite. Now, one black-eye and a broken nose later, and it was all behind them. Ron and Hermione had rowed over far lesser things and _those_ wounds Ron still had. Worse yet, he was sure that he’d said things to her that still stung, years later, and he had no idea how to change that.

 

So, it made sense really, that of all the things that Harry had thrown at Ron, it wasn’t the physical blows that were causing his current discomfort, the slow burning hole in his gut. It was Harry’s gentle prodding into his relationship with Hermione. Or, more accurately, the lack there of.

 

While Ron was glad his best friend thought he was good enough for Hermione, he was certain that no one else would agree. And every day that became more painful. He’d come to the conclusion that there was no justice in this world and that romance was, well, shite. If Harry wasn’t able to be with Ginny, how was Ron supposed to be with someone like Hermione.

 

A soft knock sounded at the door, pulling Ron out of his self-pitying reflection. It was followed by a feminine, “Hey.”

 

Hermione opened the door without waiting for an invitation. Ron wondered if her being there would make him feel better or worse. He decided that it would be better in the short run and worse in the long. Ron never had been very good about preparing for the long run.

 

She carefully closed the door and approached the bed, saying gently in a worried tone, “I waited for you in the kitchen.” So that’s where Hermione’d been. Ron had wondered. “You haven’t eaten.”

 

“I transfigured myself something,” Ron said offhandedly, gesturing toward the remains of a simple lunch of bread, cheese, and sausage.

 

Hermione’s eyebrows shot up at the sight, her curiosity drawing her over to tear off a dainty piece of cheese. “It’s good,” she announced after tasting it, with far less surprise than she would have a few weeks ago. That was something at least. “What did you make it from?”

 

Ron shrugged, “A bit of parchment.”

 

“You’re getting really good.” Hermione remarked, and Ron shrugged again. Big fucking deal, it was just cheese. Now, if only Voldemort’s Achilles’ heel were cheese, they’d be all set. “I see you didn’t bother to put clothes on,” Hermione remarked with just a touch of snarkiness.

 

Ron quirked his eyebrow, looking down at his bare chest. Did Hermione like what she saw? Holding up a leg, he wiggled his bare toes at her, saying innocently, “I put jeans on.”

 

“Hmmm.” The noise was disapproving, but the way Hermione’s eyes lingered on his bare chest was far from it. For the first time in what seemed like days, Ron smiled.

 

“Did you even bother with undergarments?” Hermione asked cheekily.

 

He loved it when she teased. It was a side of Hermione few got to see. “You want to find out?” Ron wagged his brows at her, part of him hoping she’d take him up on his semi-serious offer and throw his mind into blessed numbness.

 

But instead, Hermione cleared her throat and daintily climbed onto his bed. Not a bad start. Then he saw her settle two books onto her lap, one large and old, the other small, floppy, and Muggle-looking.

 

“I see your bruises have been healed nicely,” Hermione continued to tease.

 

Ron snorted. “Yeah, Ginny does good work. I’m not surprised. She always excelled at covering up her _indiscretions_.” He lingered on and drew out the last word, as if it tasted foul.

 

Hermione giggled sharply, and Ron’s eyes jerked to her, finding her looking down at him with one eyebrow raised. “Isn’t that a bit dramatic?”

 

“Given the circumstances? No.” But even though he tried to keep his face overcast, Ron found himself smiling up at her.

 

Hermione grinned back for a moment, before clearing her throat. “So are you … all right then?”

 

“Yeah. Like I said, Ginny—”

 

“You know what I meant.”

 

Ron frowned, his eyes finding the ceiling again. “I’m fine.” He wasn’t _lying_ , per se.

 

“What Harry and Ginny did …” Oh God, she wanted to hash it all out. “It was—”

 

“Yeah, I was annoyed, but—”

 

“ _Hurt_ ,” Hermione insisted softly. “You were hurt. So was I.” Ron forced himself to look at her, even though it was painful to do so. Strange how she was sitting there trying to comfort him when she was the most painful thing in his life.

 

“It hurts that they didn’t tell us.” She was also the best thing in his life. Funny that. “After everything we’ve been through …” Hermione trailed off as her voice broke.

 

Ron clasped her hand, murmuring, “They weren’t themselves. It was the watch.”

 

Hermione laughed, the barest hint of tears in her voice. She entwined their fingers. Softly, she reminded him, “That’s not how you felt a few hours ago.”

 

She probably didn’t want to hear that breaking Harry’s nose pretty much cleared things up. Shrugging, Ron said instead, “Harry and Ginny made a mistake. Everybody does. God knows I do _all_ the time.” As in on an hourly basis.

 

“Ron,” Hermione whispered in a tone that made his heart lurch as she reached over to gently turn his face to hers. “You are _such_ a good friend. Do you know that?”

 

He couldn’t answer for the frog in his throat. He didn’t know what to say anyway. Quickly changing the subject, Ron asked, gesturing to her lap, “So what’s with the books? Have you sussed out the mystery of the watch already?”

 

Hermione snorted. “Hardly. I’ve looked a bit, but I’m fairly certain there isn’t anything in Adrianna’s book collection. I’ve read them all, some more than once, and so has she. If there was something in there about Adrianna’s own wand, at least, I imagine she’d have noticed. I think I might start going though the Black collection next.”

 

Ron’s eyes flew to the books on her lap. Shrinking back a bit, he asked warily, “Are _those_ from the Black library?”

 

“No. No,” Hermione insisted quickly, shaking her head. “These are … these are some _other_ books of Adrianna’s that I’ve found. It’s another project I’ve been working on in my spare time.” Ron snorted, causing her to narrow her eyes, but she didn’t take the bait. Instead, she continued, “The watch gave me an idea. I think I’ve come up with the final piece I need to make it work.”

 

Ron looked at her expectantly, with no small amount of fear. Hermione’s ideas were right frightening sometimes. Brilliant, but frightening. When she didn’t continue, he prompted impatiently, “What?” Biting her lip, Hermione, held up the worn soft-cover book. It was clearly Muggle. “ _Dealing with Trauma_ ,” Ron read, his frown deepening.

 

“I found it in Adrianna’s … anyway, I think I finally found a way to deal with your nightmares,” Hermione announced in an excited rush.

 

“We _are_ dealing with my nightmares,” Ron argued. He was quite fond of the way that they were dealing with his nightmares, actually.

 

Hermione blushed, looking down at their still entwined hands. “Yes, well, my sleeping with you is hardly a permanent solution.”

 

As if he didn’t fucking know that. Ron really hated where this conversation was going. “Hermione,” he asked irritably, “is this really what we should be concentrating on? Isn’t there research to do or something?” It came out harsher than he intended, but the last thing Ron needed right now was another conversation about what he was losing in ten days.

 

Hermione’s face fell and he regretted his words. “I’ve been _trying_ ,” she practically whined. “I’ve read and I’ve read. I haven’t found anything. I’m completely useless and—”

 

“No! No, you’re _not_. We couldn’t do anything without you!” Ron insisted, panicking as he looked at the desperate expression on her face and felt the intense need to do whatever he had to in order to make it disappear.

 

“Ron, please,” Hermione begged. “I _know_ this will work. Please, let me try. Let me accomplish _something_ this summer.”

 

“Ok. All right,” he agreed quickly, swallowing. Though, whatever Hermione had planned, Ron was _certain_ he didn’t want to do it. “How does it work?”

 

Hermione sniffed, “Really?”

 

“Yeah.” How bad could it be? Hermione smiled broadly and Ron knew he made the right decision, whatever that decision was.

 

“All right,” she said eagerly, barely able to contain her excitement. “So, among other things, this book details a method of dealing with trauma related nightmares. The theory is fascinating …” Hermione trailed off at what Ron knew was a blank expression on his face. “But that doesn’t matter. Basically the therapist—”

 

“Therapist?” Ron asked, his eyebrows raised. The things she came up with. What barmy plan was he getting himself into?

 

“Yes, _therapist_. I will be playing that roll,” Hermione stated primly and Ron successfully suppressed the urge to laugh in disbelief. But just barely. “So, it’s the therapist’s job is to relax the person with the nightmares.”

 

Ron couldn’t help but smile. _That_ sounded promising. His thoughts must have been clear on his face, because Hermione frowned and swatted at him. “Is that _all_ you think about?”

 

Well, yeah.

 

“This is serious, Ron,” Hermione admonished sternly. “After you are relaxed, you tell the therapist your recurring nightmare in detail.”  He almost choked. Ron had never heard a worse idea in his entire life. What was she thinking? Tell _Hermione_ his nightmare? When you get to the end, you change the ending. Simple,” she finished, taking a deep, nervous breath.

 

Simple? Right. Ron stared at her. She wasn’t _actually_ going to make him do this? “This sounds like Muggle boll—”

 

“We’ll do it the Magical way, of course,” Hermione interrupted, nodding her head as if that alone would convince him as she patted the other book affectionately. “I’ve found a spell to put you into a light dreamlike state. You should be able to experience your nightmare, but have more control over it. _And_ still be able to hear me. On some level, anyway.”

 

“It sounds complicated,” Ron said, trying not to sound too irritable. He _wanted_ to tell her she was out of her bloody mind.

 

“It _is_ advanced.”

 

Now it was _advanced_. A minute ago it was simple. Mental was more like it. “This isn’t Dark Magic, is it?”

 

“Of course not!”

 

“Is—?”

 

“Ron,” Hermione interrupted impatiently. “Do you want to do this or not?”

 

Not. “Fine. Let’s get on with it then.”

 

Hermione smiled, eagerly. “All right, then. Lie down.”

 

That’s right, mental. Ron blinked up at her. “Hermione, I _am_ lying down.”

 

“Oh, right. Fine, then. Close your eyes and try to relax.”

 

Obediently, Ron closed his eyes. But relax? There was no chance in—Hermione muttered a series of unfamiliar words and he felt all the tension drain from his body in a sudden liquid wash, leaving his body limp and heavy as his mind went blank.

 

“Ron, can you hear me?” Hermione’s voice came as if from a great distance.

 

“Mmm,” Ron attempted, but wasn’t sure if he succeeded in making any actual sound.

 

He must have, though, because Hermione continued, “Good. Now, I need you to go through the entire dream. Tell me what’s happening, so I can help you.”

 

Ron didn’t think that he’d be able to make his mouth move, let alone do everything she asked him to. This wasn’t going to work. “O … k …”

 

Hermione’s voice floated to him, otherworldly, “You are at the beginning of the dream …”

 

He heard a loud, _snap_.

 

And Ron was in the Department of Mysteries. Only he was actually _in_ the Department of Mysteries. It was frighteningly real. The hazy dreamlike quality that surrounded him in his nightmares wasn’t there. Instead, he could smell the dank mustiness, feel the heaviness of the air.

 

Hermione was standing a good distance from him, completely her in every way. Ron could make out the fuzzy texture of her busy hair. He tried to call to her, convinced that she had somehow found a way to get inside his mind, which, by the way, was an extremely disturbing thought.

 

But Hermione didn’t look at him and then Dolohov was there, raising his wand. Ron was stuck to the floor, just like always. Only this was _so_ much worse, because it was so real. Why would she make him do this? Oh God, make it stop!

 

“No. No. No.”

 

“Ron, tell me what’s happening,” came a quiet command inside his head. It jerked him back a bit. It was bizarre to have Hermione so real in front of him and hear her inside his head as well. He tried to concentrate on the voice, but then the other Hermione was falling. And he couldn’t …

 

“No! No!”

 

“Tell me,” Hermione commanded, more insistently.

 

With great effort Ron forced out, “Kill you … Dolohov killing you …”

 

“He’s _not_ killing me, Ron. I’m right here.”

 

Ron felt the familiar sensation of her squeezing his hand. Suddenly, he saw her standing next to him, holding his hand, not in her Hogwart’s robes, but the jeans and t-shirt she was wearing today. Relief flooded— _snap_. The scene changed. He was in the funeral home. Her coffin lay at the end of the aisle. He tried to squeeze Hermione’s hand, but she was gone.

 

Panic worse than before gripped his insides as Ron felt his brother’s hands close around him, restraining him. As they always did, they held him back from where he needed to go. He couldn’t breathe. Hermione!

 

“Ron? What happened? Did something change?”

 

The voice in his mind was back and despite the knowledge of what they were doing, Ron was sure he was going mad. Then he had the bizarre thought that if Hermione ever left him, he hoped he’d hear her voice in his head forever. Mad or not.

 

“What’s happening,” the voice repeated.

 

“Coffin … can’t …”

 

“I’m here.” There was a ghost of a fluttering on his chest, like a caress, distracting him. His brothers’ hands were gone in an instant and Ron looked down at himself. He wasn’t in his school robes either, just his jeans. He could almost make out the outline of Hermione’s hands pressed against his bare chest.

 

 _Snap_. Ron was in the cemetery and his heart immediately started to race. He couldn’t feel her anymore. The voice was gone. He ran. He ran and ran toward the levitated coffin. He could feel the grass against his bare feet and the sun on his bare chest.

 

“Sorry, mate,” Harry said as he arrived, repeating the words Ron had heard in countless nightmares, though he did seem more distraught than he had in the past. But it didn’t matter. His best friend was walking away and fresh dirt covered the coffin.

 

“Hermione!”

 

“Ron?”

 

Her voice was back. Oh God. Oh God. “Cemetery,” he managed, without being asked. “Buried you.”

 

Ron fell to his knees and he could smell the grass and feel the dirt between his fingers. Hot tears streamed down his face and his throat was sore from sobbing. Only in his nightmares did he cry like this.

 

“Ron! What’s happening?”

 

The voice was farther away now, less comforting. “Digging …” he managed.

 

“You’re digging in my grave?” Ron found himself nodding as he heard, “Oh God! Ok. Ron, is this the end?”

 

“Yeah.” The end. The end. Dead. Dead. Ron couldn’t live without her. He didn’t want to. What would he do?

 

“Ron, you need to listen to me. _You_ are in control here. This is your dream. You can change the ending. Anything you want you can have. What do you want?”

 

A tortured sob escaped him. “You. I want you.”

 

There was long pause. The voice in his head was heavy with emotion when it said, “Then I’m there. Look, I’m there.”

 

Ron forced his eyes up, blinking into the sun. He couldn’t see anything. He didn’t know what to do. This wasn’t working. No matter how much he wanted Hermione to be standing there …

 

Then she was. There, in the distance, Hermione was walking toward him, looking normal and healthy and beautiful, in her everyday jeans and shirt, soft curls blowing in the light wind. She was _here_. Fuck, she was brilliant. Ron couldn’t believe she’d done this. His eyes were blurry and he swiped away the moisture with blackened hands, stumbling to his feet.

 

“Ron,” the girl before him called, quickening her pace as she approached him.

 

Hermione was almost running when he caught her. He barely had time to wipe away the dirt on his hands, before pulling her into his arms. She was _there_ , soft and warm and clutching him as tightly as he was her. Ron buried his face in her neck, tasting her wonderful salty skin.

 

But it wasn’t enough.  Ron pulled his face back, cupping her crown and tipping her head so he could see her eyes. God, if he lost her … He’d been so worried. Before he could tell her, he was kissing her. He’d never been so happy to see anyone. The kiss became slow and deep as he worshiped her with his tongue. Just like she deserved.

 

She tasted like … God, she tasted like Hermione. _His_ Hermione. “You’re real,” Ron muttered against her lips.

 

“It was a trick,” she whispered tearfully, her hands running over his bare back as he bent over her. “I was never dead. They were trying to trick you. See.” Hermione gestured to the tombstone with a tilt of her chin. It was blank. “The coffin’s empty as well.”

 

Staring at the stone tablet in disbelief, Ron muttered, “But Harry said—”

 

“Harry was wrong. They were _all_ wrong. I’ve been trying to get back to you,” Hermione whispered tearfully and Ron cut her off with a sharp, hard kiss.

 

“I’ve been trying to get to _you_ ,” he breathed, a familiar feeling of ineptness starting to seep in.

 

Her soft hand cupped his cheek. “You got to me. You _found_ me.”

 

But Ron shook his head. “No, you found—”

 

She broke him off by pressing her lips to his again, making Ron moan in appreciation as he sank back into her wonderful Hermione-taste, soothed by her brilliant Hermione touch and the soft stroke of her tongue, passionate and gentle. All of it was so familiar, so real, so _alive_. His hands sifted into the soft silk of her curls.

 

“I need ...” Ron gasped into her mouth.

 

“What?”

 

“More.”

 

Smiling coyly, Hermione pulled away from him. Ron stood entranced as she stepped back and slowly lifted her shirt over her head. There wasn’t anything underneath. Holy …

 

Reaching over, Hermione grabbed his limp hand, and pulled him toward her. Ron was sure he was drooling. She looked fantastic in the sunlight. Wow, he hadn’t seen the sun in awhile. He could enjoy it now that she was here.

 

Hermione fell to her knees, pulling him with her, running her hands over his chest, before gently pushing him back onto the grass. Ron was too much in awe to do much except lie there and smile stupidly as she straddled him, settling herself over the hardness trapped in his jeans.

 

Finally finding the power to move, Ron pushed up into the friction, moaning as he reached for her breasts, his thumbs coming to circle her nipples. Hermione’s face scrunched up in that delicious way it did when she was _enjoying_ herself. She arched her back, her hair flowing behind her, her jeans riding low on her hips. So sexy. So gorgeous. She licked her lips and circled her hips, grinding into him.

 

Ron had to struggle to keep his eyes open as he reached for her, blindly bringing her back down into his kiss. But the wonderful friction soon became too much and she was bucking on top of him.

 

“Hermione,” he moaned.

 

“God, Ron. God, I love you.”

 

“I lo—”

 

The realization of what he almost said hit Ron like a physical blow. His eyes snapped open and he was, once again, in his bedroom at Grimmauld Place. Hermione was sitting on top of him, wearing just her jeans and a bra.

 

“What’s wrong?” she asked breathlessly, her lips kiss swollen and glistening. “Did it work?”

 

Ron’s heart was beating at an alarming rate. He could barley hear her over the thumping in his ears. “What did you say?” he gasped, trying to regain his equilibrium, as he struggled to come up on his elbows.

 

“What? I … I asked if it worked,” Hermione breathed in a husky, confused tone.

 

“No, no. Before that. You _said_ something.” Ron searched her eyes, desperate for … did he imagine it? Was she trying to back out of saying it?

 

Hermione smiled dreamily. “Ron, I couldn’t say anything what with the way you were snogging me senseless.”

 

Normally, her tone and words would have melted away every thought in his hand. “You _said_ something,” he insisted, cringing at the pathetic sound of his voice. But she _had_ said it. Ron was sure of it. Hermione had said she loved him and, oh God, he was about to say it back. Why would he do that?

 

“I was actually there?” Hermione asked, giddy with girlish excitement over her accomplishment. “You could see me?”

 

Ron’s eyes narrowed in confusion. “Yeah.”

 

Her smile was huge. “Were you able to change the ending?”

 

“Hermione, you _know_ this,” Ron argued irreparably. “You were there.”

 

But her smile didn’t falter. Hermione just shook her head. “No. That was the dream.”

 

Still not understanding, Ron sputtered, “But you ... but you took off your shirt.” But she hadn’t been wearing a bra in the dream.

 

Hermione laughed, gleefully. “Ron, _you_ took off my shirt. If I did it in your dream, it was because you wanted me to. _You_ were controlling what happened.”

 

He was controlling it? But … Ron fell onto his back, breathing raggedly, staring blindly at the ceiling. “So, anything you said …” Oh God.

 

“Was because you _wanted_ me to say it. Ron,” she asked more tentatively, “what did I say?”

 

Ron clenched his fists, saying hoarsely, “I don’t … I couldn’t make it out. That’s why I was asking.” He rubbed his face roughly. This wasn’t happening.

 

“Oh. All right.”

 

Hermione sounded disappointed, but Ron was still struggling with his own version of that emotion and what the _fuck_ it meant. She dropped down, laying her head on his heaving chest. His breathing wasn’t returning to normal.

 

Without thought, Ron sunk his hand into her curls, holding her to him as he swallowed through a thick throat. Clear as day, he could still see her on top of him. ”I love you,” she’d said. Shite. Shite. Shite.

 

  
  


 

* * * * *

 


	39. The Tide of Change

Ginny couldn’t believe this was happening. She thought she would never experience one of these dreams again and yet here she was. And this time she was starkers. In bed.  With Harry. Try as she may, Ginny couldn’t convince herself that it was Alexi above her, rubbing wantonly against her naked body. Even if it _was_ Alexi. When had these stopped being dreams and started being nightmares?

 

He’d shaved. Alexi had shaved and now … _now_ , the resemblance to Harry was painfully striking. Alexi’s brown hair looked almost black, slick to his forehead with sweat. In the darkness of the room, Ginny couldn’t make out the brown of his half-opened eyes. It was easy to imagine them deep green.

 

She _needed_ to be able to see his eyes. Without that, how was Ginny supposed to remember that this was a dream, that this was Alexi and Helana, _not_ her and Harry? It felt so much like her and Harry.

 

Then he kissed her and she gave herself over completely. Ginny was making love with Harry. Making love. She always knew he would be her first. Except, he wasn’t. This was Helana’s body, and _she_ had made love before. This was mad. Ginny was mad. Oh God. She couldn’t think.

 

Harry pulled back … wait, not Harry. Please, try to remember that it was _not_ Harry! But then Ginny felt him against her. Oh God. Oh crap. Was that his cock? Harry’s … Alexi’s … he was poking at her. He was going to …

 

Shite. _Fuck_. Was this really happening? Did she want this to happen? Did she have a choice? It was almost like rape. Only both Ginny _and_ Harry were being raped. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Would they ever be able to look at one another again?

 

Her panic mixed with love and desire and … oh God, Ginny was a whore. If she wasn’t, she would have stayed away. She would never have touched the watch again. It was all her fault. Suddenly, Ginny didn’t want this at all. Not like this. And no emotion of Helana’s could over come that.

 

A loud bang followed by shouting caused Alexi freeze on top of her. He jerked away, leaving Ginny dizzy with relief.

 

“Shit, what—?” Alexi yelled.

 

And it was his voice, not Harry’s. Finally, Ginny found she was able to separate the two. They were just along for the ride, right? It was no big deal. Just as long as the ride _didn’t_ include shagging.

 

“Helana!” a familiar voice outside the door screamed.

 

It was followed by a squeaky, “But Master—”

   

The sound of the heavy door being forced open exploded through the room in a way that only magic could. Alexi barely had time to roll off his wife and throw a sheet over her before her brother barged into the room, yanking back the curtains to their bed without pause.

 

“Stephan!” Alexi gasped, outraged. “What the _hell_ is wrong with you!” He scrambled from the bed, dragging a coverlet with him and slinging it around his lean hips, while Helana pulled the sheet more firmly around her.

 

“Where is she?” Stephan demanded. “Where’s Hilda?”

 

“Not in _our_ bedchamber!” Alexi roared. It was hard to blame the bloke for being upset, all things considering. Even if Ginny was grateful for the interruption …

 

Oh God. Emotions rushed at Ginny, attacking her. Panic, fear, rage, grief … _so_ much grief, irrational and overwhelming. Helana took in her brother’s frantic expression, and, shite, that was dried blood on his hands.

 

“Stephan,” Helana breathed, her voice filled with concern. She gestured for her husband to allow her the lead. “What happened?”

 

“She killed her, Helana,” Stephan gasped, his voice thick with unshed tears. “Hilda killed Anneliese and the baby.” Helana’s heart froze, tears springing to her eyes. Stephan shook his head in the way only mad man do, looking overwhelmed and scattered as he stared down at his bloody hands. “She died, oh God, right there in my …” Stephan broke off with a heart-wrenching sob, and Helana struggled to sit.

 

Holding the sheet to her with one hand and reaching for her brother with the other, she murmured, “Oh God, Stephan.”

 

“No!” her bother bit out angrily, jerking away from her touch. “I’m not here for _comfort_. I’m here to … I’m going to _kill_ her. Hilda was coming here next. I’m sure of it. She wants—”

 

“The children,” Alexi breathed, snatching up a dressing robe and sprinting for the door, not bothering to stop and pull it on as the blanket fell from his hips. He had a great arse. Is that what Harry’s arse would look like …?

 

Concentrate, Ginny! Alexi and Helana must have _needed_ them to see this. Otherwise, why create a watch powerful enough to ensnare them as completely as this one had her and Harry?

 

“Goddamn it! I was so sure she’d be here!” Stephan raged, bending over as if in pain. It was clear he had truly gone insane with grief. Pulling at his hair, he turned wild eyes to Helana. “Come with me. You can find her easily with your powers and that wand. We’ll kill Hilda _together_. This war will be over.”

 

Helana began to panic. She shook her head, denying his words. “Stephan, I can’t _._ I can’t _kill_ someone. My sister—”

 

“She’s a _murder_!” Stephan bellowed. “She slaughtered my wife and child, _your_ nephew. He was a boy and unworthy of her. He didn’t have her precious Empathy. Don’t you care? Do you know how many people are dead because of her?”

 

“Of course, I care! You know, I, of all people _care_. I understand. Stephan, we’ll … we’ll capture her. We’ll—”

 

She reached out to comfort him again, but Stephan wrenched away, cutting her off with a painful roar. “No! Hilda can’t be _captured_! She can’t be _contained_! She needs to be _destroyed_!”

 

“Stephan,” Helana sobbed. Foreboding and fear overcame her. For some reason, Ginny didn’t think Stephan would emerge from this particular horror. She tried to imagine what _her_ brothers would be like if they lost the woman they loved. It would be just like this. If Ron lost Hermione or Charlie lost …

 

“Hilda was right,” Stephan accused, backing away from his sister. “You are weak. It’s that damn Empathy. It only ends in horror. It makes you weak or evil or crazy like Mama. It’s a _curse_!”

 

“Stephan, you’re not thinking clearly,” Helana pleaded, starting to gain some control over herself, at least.

 

“No, I am. I finally am. It’s not just Hilda who needs to be destroyed. It’s all of it. Every last drop of Empath blood.”

 

Ginny was struck by a new wave of fear, even as Helana held herself painfully still, saying, “You don’t mean that. It’s your blood as well.”

 

“Killing myself will be the easiest task of all. It will be a fitting end to Empathy.” Stephan laughed, a harsh cackle that was horrifyingly like his older sister’s. “Run, little sister. Take your children and run. If Hilda doesn’t kill you, I will.”

 

 _Crack_.

 

“Mama.”

 

As Stephan disappeared a little girl’s voice rang out in the now silent room. Alexi stood in the doorway, an infant in one arm and a small girl clutching his free hand. Helana ran to her, swooping her into her arms and pressing her lips to the girl’s tiny forehead, whimpering, “Alexi—”

 

“I heard,” he said, his voice hard. Turning to the crowd of house elves who had gathered behind them, Alexi ordered, “Ready the house. We leave at dawn.”

 

“Where are we going, Mama?” the girl asked, confusion and fear on her small face.

 

“Russia, sweetling. We’re going to visit Papa’s people in Russia.”

 

  
  


* * * * *

 

             

 

Hermione tried not to pester Ron about what happened in his dream-trance. She tried to give him space. But staying quiet went against every instinct she had, and the questions _ate_ at her, feeding her ever increasing anxiety until it burst out, overflowing. All over poor Ron.

 

Nagging was a habit Hermione wasn’t particularly proud of. She didn’t enjoy it. She didn’t like how her voice sounded or the pained look that came over the recipient’s face. But it was one urge, it seemed, she had absolutely no control over.

 

Not that it did her one bit of good. Not this time. Well, maybe it did Hermione _some_ good. Ron _did_ decide to stop her incessant questioning by diligently picking up where he left off with the _activities_ he had initiated while in the trance state.

 

It seemed that after all this time Ron finally found a way to best Hermione in an argument. Actually, he succeeded in driving every last thought straight out of her head. Any thought that didn’t involve the taste and feel of his skin, that was.

 

Ron left her so exhausted that as soon as they were finished, Hermione drifted off to sleep, despite the fact that it was only early afternoon. When she woke from her nap, mostly starkers and disoriented, the sun was just beginning to set and Ron was gone.

 

That shouldn’t have bothered her. It shouldn’t have caused a wealth of dizzying panic to burst inside her. Really, what did she expect? Was Ron supposed to sit there for hours and watch her sleep? He was probably off somewhere with Harry. Which was a good thing. A _good_ thing.

 

Yet, as Hermione dressed and started down the stairs, there was a niggling doubt in her belly. What _had_ she said in Ron’s dream that upset him so much? Hermione didn’t buy his “I didn’t hear it” line. Not completely anyway. Whatever dream-Hermione said, it had affected him deeply enough to pull him out of that state, _without_ her consent. Ron was not supposed to be able to come out on his own.

 

Why wouldn’t Ron tell her what it was? He’d been so strange and distant afterwards. Even when he was touching her, even though his passion had been intense enough to consume her, there was still something … _off_ , something beyond Hermione’s reach.

 

Hermione shook her head to clear it. She was over-reacting. It was a traumatic dream. Of course, Ron was upset. What did she expect? But there was something deep inside her, telling her that wasn’t it. This wasn’t because she’d almost died in his dream. This was something different, something new.

 

And her fear … her fear was that dream-Hermione had somehow confessed her feelings and that Ron was completely distraught by the idea. The idea of them being more than friends who Practice.

 

Oh God. Oh God. No. _No_. Mustn’t panic. It was all right. Hermione was just being silly. How could her dream manifestation even know her true feelings? Everything was going to be fine.

 

But what if it wasn’t? Things were _not_ going well. Ron should have come around by now. They should be in a real relationship, not pressing this Practicing façade to the point of absurdity.

 

What if Hermione had been wrong all along? This could be the worst mistake of her life. She was so much more in love with Ron now than she was at the beginning of the summer. Being without Ron now, the thought was unbearable. How could she have been so stupid?

 

As Hermione descended the stairs to the foyer, she found Harry sitting on the floor across the hall from the dining room, staring at the closed door. Ron was nowhere in sight. Don’t panic. Don’t _panic_!

 

Hermione forced her voice to lighten before calling out, “Harry.”

 

Startled, her friend looked up at her. “Oh. Hi, Hermione.” Harry tried to smile, but Hermione caught sight of something in his eyes that was almost … it broke her heart.

 

So, for once, Hermione did the right thing. She went and sat next to her best friend, ignoring the desperate ache in the pit of her stomach, the voice that was screaming at her to _find_ Ron. But it was that voice that kept her from helping Harry and Ginny in the first place. She needed to start fighting it, or there would be nothing of _Hermione_ left inside her. Only a crazy, obsessed, Ron … _groupie_.

 

Taking a deep breath to clear her thoughts, Hermione asked, “What are you doing here?”

 

Harry shrugged, gnawing on the inside of his cheek. “I’m waiting for Adrianna and the rest of the Order to come out of the dining room. She’s been in there since she left us.” Hermione frowned. That was an awfully long time. Eight hours, almost.

 

“Bill and Tonks came out a little while ago,” Harry continued. “They’re in the kitchen now with _Ginny_.” He put a strange emphasis on her name that led Hermione to believe things weren’t going any better for those two, than they were for her and Ron. “Apparently, they were here for Adrianna’s induction into the Order. Dumbledore and few others … _Snape_ … are still in there with her. No one will say why.”

 

Hermione let out an anxious breath. “So, you think she’s telling them about the watch, then?” Poor Harry. The idea of Snape, of all people, knowing about something so personal and, well, _embarrassing._  It must be awful.

 

Harry shrugged again. “I suppose. But why would Adrianna tell Snape _,_ and not Bill and Tonks. She trusts them more than she trusts Dumbledore _?_ And, in _eight_ hours, why haven’t they demanded an explanation from me and Ginny?”

 

They were all excellent questions. Hermione tried to swallow some of the unease she was feeling, pressing her hands firmly on her thighs to keep them from bouncing. Before she could say something reassuring, Harry burst out with, “We had another dream.”

 

Hermione’s eyes snapped to his, as he babbled anxiously, “Me and Ginny, we fell asleep in the attic. We tried not to, but ... anyway, I thought it would be best if I came right out with it. I want you to know I won’t be keeping any more secrets and … Hermione, I’m _sorry_. I’m so sorry about everything.” Hermione shook her head, trying to let him know that it wasn’t necessary, but Harry continued, “I’m sorry that I even _implied_ it could be your fault.”

 

She scoffed at that. “Isn’t it though? My fault,” Hermione said lightly, trying to tease and failing miserably.

 

“No,” Harry replied, completely serious. “Not even a little. You have every right to spend time alone with your … with Ron.”

 

Her ‘….’ indeed. Hermione cleared her throat. She wasn’t going to let her thoughts go down that path. What was she doing again? Right, trying to make Harry feel better. Whatever it took. “I understand. I mean, I forgive you,” she attempted, hoping those were the magic words.

 

Evidently they were. Harry’s eyes jerked back to hers and he gave her a brilliant smile that broke her heart all over again. This was what he needed, even if Hermione couldn’t help but feel that she should be asking for forgiveness as well. Clearing her throat so she wouldn’t cry, she began again, “So, this new dream—”

 

“Harry. Hermione,” Mrs. Weasley called out, interrupting them as she appeared at the top of the kitchen steps, looking tired and haggard. “Come downstairs, dears. Dinner’s waiting.” She didn’t pause as she climbed halfway up the next flight and yelled in a terribly loud voice, “Ronald! Dinner!” Hermione’s heart jumped. Just at the sound of his name. How sad was that?

 

“I’m not hungry, Mrs. Weasley,” Harry protested and Hermione frowned as she heard his stomach growl in protest. She, herself, had eaten scarcely anything over the last three days, and given how Harry got when he was in a self-imposed penance …

 

Keeping her voice light, Hermione got to her feet and offered him a hand. “Come on.” Harry stared up at her with a conflicted and defeated expression.

 

“Mum, were you calling me?” Ron was out of breath as he appeared on the stairs.

 

Instantaneously, Hermione’s mind went blank. Her hand dropped, and her eyes flew to Ron. He wouldn’t meet her gaze and kept shuffling his feet. Oh God. Oh God. Don’t panic.

 

“Yes, yes,” his mother replied in an overly tense tone. “Get yourself downstairs for dinner and talk to your ruddy brother while you’re at it. Bill and Nymphadora have been down there snipping at each other for hours and Ginny’s of no help, moping about. They’re as bad as Charlie and Adrianna. It’s enough to drive a mother to distraction. ”

 

Ron fought an amused smile and looked over at Hermione, as if he wanted to share his mirth. It was a small gesture, but it made her feel better. She took a deep breath. She could do this. Smiling back, she offered her hand to Harry again, saying more firmly, “Come _on_ , Harry.”

 

“But—”

 

The Imperturbable fell abruptly and the door to the dining room slammed open. Adrianna burst out, saying hurriedly, “Harry, good. Hedwig’s downstairs, yes?”

 

Remus was right at her heals, calling in an uncharacteristically uneasy tone, “Adrianna, I appreciate it, but … you _can’t_ do this!”

 

“Watch me,” Adrianna yelled defiantly. Without waiting for Harry’s answer, she turned and rushed down the stairs. Remus gave a somewhat scary almost-snarl and ran after her.

 

Dumbledore came out behind them, taking his time, humming a merry little tune. Professor McGonagall was a tad more stern when she appeared. Professor Snape was last, pausing to sneer at them, looking more displeased than usual. Hermione took in each expression carefully. What would three Hogwart’s professors and a once former …?

 

She was jerked out of her contemplation when Ron grabbed her arm, pulling her to the stairs. It wasn’t until then that Hermione realized Harry had run ahead of them. What was she thinking? Of course, they’d discover more by following. Thankfully, Ron had already figured that out. He skirted in front of the professors, dragging her down to the kitchen. Hermione needed him to balance her. She …

 

Ron jerked to a halt and the scene before them drew Hermione’s attention. _This_ was what she needed to concentrate on. He dropped her hand. That would help her concentrate. But. why didn’t he want to touch her? No. _No_. Adrianna. Remus. Pay attention.

 

Adrianna had her wand out, keeping a clearly frustrated Remus at bay. Behind her, a quill stood on parchment, poised at the ready. Tonks and Bill were watching with amusement as Harry and Ginny purposefully avoided each other’s gaze. What was going on? Why was everyone else just standing there? And why did the Headmaster look positively gleeful as he munched on chips he had plucked from the dinner table?

 

“Adrianna,” Remus hissed, “what could you _possibly_ …? Do you really think you can bully the Minister of Magic?” Hermione’s eyes widened in shock, and she momentarily forgot about Ron … who, by the way, was standing not a foot away from her.

 

Adrianna smiled with mock sweetness. “I prefer to think of it as _persuade_ , but, yes, I’m quite certain I can.”

 

“And do you plan on _persuading_ every parent at Hogwarts?” Remus barked.

 

“If I have to,” Adrianna replied, tilting her head arrogantly.

 

“And how are you going to persuade _me_? I have to say yes, ‘Drana.”

 

“Simple. I’m not doing this unless you are.”

 

Doing what? Hermione was so confused. Her gaze was drawn to Dumbledore as he called cheerily, “I suppose we’re all counting on you then, Remus. It really is quite essential that Adrianna agrees, given the present circumstances.”

 

“Albus, you _can’t_ be supporting this?” Remus asked incredulously. But from the look on the Headmaster's face, it was clear that he not only supported ‘this’, but was encouraging Adrianna whole-heartedly. Whatever _this_ was. 

 

A slow, wicked smile spread across Adrianna’s face. “Dear Minister Fudge,” she dictated, waving her wand. The quill began to write. “I am writing in respect to a matter of utmost concern. I’m sure you are aware of the _disaster_ last year's O.W.L.s in Defense against the Dark Art’s were. This highlights a significant problem in the curriculum and teaching of the subject. As Hogwarts is your only school of—”

 

“I wouldn’t say ‘your’, ‘Drana,” Bill called out brightly. Did _he_ know something Hermione didn’t? “Say ‘our.’ It will have more punch if you emphasize your grand British Wizarding heritage.”

 

Nodding as if Bill’s comment was wise instead of merely cheeky, Adrianna waved her wand again. “Go back.” The quill undid the words. “Let’s see … the only school of Witchcraft and Wizardry in Britain, the school my ancestor’s attended for the last five-hundred years … too much?”

 

Chuckling, Mr. Weasley shook his head, “Exactly the thing, my dear.”

 

“Arthur!” Remus cried in disbelief. “I can’t believe you would—”

 

“Where was I?” Adrianna continued as if he hadn’t spoken.

 

Beaming, Tonks called back, “Last five-hundred years …” Was everyone in on this?

 

“Right.” Adrianna smiled conspiratorially with the other Auror and resumed, “Given the present circumstances, being that of the reappearance of the Dark Wizard, Voldemort and his followers …”

 

Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione saw Mrs. Weasley wince at the casual use of Voldemort’s name and her husband rubbed her back soothingly. Hermione also noticed that Ron had no reaction at all. It was strange, Hermione hadn’t thought about it in months, but none of them had said ‘He Who Won’t Be Named’ since the Department of Mysteries. Not even Ron. She felt a surge of pride in him.

 

“… allowed to gain strength over the last year due largely to the _inattention_ of the British Ministry—”

 

“ _Adrianna_ ,” Mrs. Weasley gasped and Hermione frowned. Why was she upset that …? Oh, yes, Adrianna was being disrespectful to the Minister of Magic. Terrible thing, that.

 

“What? I could have said ‘delusional’?” Adrianna replied innocently.

 

“Quite right,” Dumbledore agreed. “‘Inattention’ is much more diplomatic. Carry on, then.”

 

Clearing her throat, Adrianna began again, “This has led to a national and _international_ crisis.”

 

“Ooo, I like the international part,” Tonks commented.

 

“In conjunction with the Headmaster and senior staff of Hogwarts …” Snape grunted his disapproval and Adrianna grinned at him, clearly pleased with his reaction. “… we have established a new curriculum …”

 

Hermione’s heart jumped. New curriculum? What new curriculum? They couldn’t do that, could they? Oh, she hoped they hadn’t cut anything out.

 

“… with an increase in instruction in Defense Against the Dark Arts to make up for the deficit over the last few years. This will include having two Defense Teachers …”

 

With a gasp, Hermione turned wide eyes to Ron and Harry. They stared back with bemused expressions. Is this what they were discussing behind locked doors? And what did it have to do with Adrianna and … _Oh_.

 

“I’m sure, given the crisis, you will make sure these positions and their _salaries_ are readily approved.”

 

Remus gave a bark of a laugh at that and Tonks threw in, “Don’t forget to mention that Fudge was the one who chose that Umbridge cow.”

 

Nodding, Adrianna continued, “Especially considering that the Professor who brought these problems to a head was Ministry appointed and ...” She paused, frowning. “Harry didn’t she do something terrible, like try to kill you … or _something_?”

 

Harry grunted, “Among other things she sent Dementors after me.”

 

“Perfect …and illegally sent a Dementor after a student, showing complete disregard for the law _and_ the well-being of our young people. I’m sure you’ll understand and approve Professor Dumbledore’s new choices,” Dumbledore hummed happily, “myself and Mr. Remus Lupin—”

 

The rest of her words were drowned out by a sudden rush of noise. Hermione could have sworn she heard a girlish squeal of delight from Harry, but maybe that was her. She had suspected … but still, the things they could learn!

 

“Eh hm,” Adrianna called loudly, trying to look stern, but failing miserably. “As I was saying … Mr. Remus Lupin, who I believe was the only successful teacher of this subject in many years—”

 

“Best O.W.L. and NEWT marks in two decades,” Dumbledore interjected proudly as Remus shook his head and pressed his hands to his forehead.

 

Adrianna repeated this information and continued dictating, “I’m sure we can count on your full support. Naturally, this letter is for your eyes only and there will be no need, at _this_ time, for it to find its way into international newspapers.”

 

This was met with a burst of amusement. Tonks, who was next to Adrianna, laughed so hard that Adrianna was having a hard time concentrating on finishing the letter. “Shh,” she admonished, chuckling herself. “If you have any questions or problems, please let me know as soon as possible and I’ll do what I can to _persuade_ you. Thank you for your time. Signed, Adrianna Isabella Potter, International Auror First Class.”

 

“Arrogant chit!” Snape bit out, causing Adrianna to finally give in and burst out laughing.

 

“Adrianna!” Remus snapped, deadly serious. “You can’t think that will work.”

 

But she waved her wand and the letter folded, tucking itself neatly into an envelope and addressing itself. “Oh, I’m positive it will work. Hedwig, take this directly to the Minister, will you?”

 

“I just wish I could be there,” Tonks said, staring after the bird with longing.

 

Ron chuckled, and for no good reason the sound made Hermione ache. She mustn’t look at him. She _had_ to think of something else. “Adrianna, are you really going to be our professor?” she asked, feeling somewhat inane as she said it.

 

“I told you I wasn’t leaving your safety up to anyone else,” she stated simply, flinging herself into the chair next to Tonks. “Teaching was his idea.” Adrianna gestured her hand toward Dumbledore.

 

The Headmaster smiled. “One of my better ones, and _that_ is saying something.” Hermione wondered whether he caught the way Adrianna rolled her eyes, or if he knew, when he offered her the position, of the witch’s dislike for him.

 

With an irritated grunt, Remus challenged, “And the curriculum changes? Whose ideas were those?”

 

Innocently, Adrianna replied, “All of ours.”

 

Remus scoffed, “Adrianna … I seem to remember some rather _aggressive_ —”

 

“Contract negotiations,” Adrianna supplied.

 

“Bullying,” Snape growled.

 

Adrianna laughed out right. “Pots and kettles, Severus. Pots and kettles.”

 

“You’re really coming to Hogwarts with us? Both of you?” Harry was smiling with new life, and for a moment it was as if the last three days had never happened. For Hermione that, alone, was worth it.

 

“Brilliant,” Ron said, nicking a chip and receiving a glare from his mother.

 

Adrianna shot him an amused look. “You won’t be saying that once you see the new curriculum.”

 

Ron’s face fell, but suddenly Hermione had difficulty concentrating through the rush of excitement. She had been worried that after this summer N.E.W.T. level classes wouldn’t be challenging enough. But now … _finally_ something to look forward to.

 

Chatter erupted around her, but Hermione was too busy fantasizing about the academic possibilities to take part. Though she did notice Remus sit next to Adrianna and take a deep breath. “Adrianna,” he said softly, “you are fully capable of doing this without me. The parents will—”

 

She waved her hand dismissively. “It’s done.”

 

Remus gritted his teeth with frustration. “I’m still a _werewolf_ , Adrianna.”

 

“No kidding,” she threw back cheekily, making a show of nonchalantly picking up a glass and drinking.

 

Professor Lupin looked as angry as Hermione had ever seen him. Loudly, he barked, “Do you have _any_ idea what—”

 

Calmly, Adrianna interrupted, “Are you familiar with the Hungarian Gutliz werewolf pack of 1993-1999—”

 

“Of course,” Remus snapped. Hermione noticed that the room had once again grown quiet and everyone was listening intently. “That is _exactly_ my point. Hundreds of people were killed—”

 

“Then you are aware of what happened in the Village of Karistan,” Adrianna said evenly, “when the pack was finally destroyed?”

 

“Of course …” Remus’ eyes widened as they looked Adrianna over. “You were there.”

 

“I killed two werewolves personally. Do _you_ want to work with _me_?” she challenged.

 

This time Remus only gave a small huff of a laugh before falling back into his chair, defeated. Dumbledore sat up still straighter. “Yes, yes,” he sung, “I’m quite pleased with our plans for Hogwarts this year.”

 

Snape let out an annoyed growl. “I’ll take my leave now.”

 

“You are welcome to stay and eat, Severus,” Mrs. Weasley said politely. Though it was far from a warm invitation.

 

“Thank you, but no,” Snape grunted.

 

Adrianna smiled and waved her fingers. “See you in September, _Severus_.” She chuckled as he sneered and Disapparated.

 

“You know you’ll have to work with _him_ ,” Bill remarked wryly.

 

Chuckling, Adrianna replied, “ _That_ I’m looking forward to.” Then looking over at Harry, she instructed, “Come on, eat up. After dinner you and Ginny have a lovely, _long_ story to tell these nice people.”  

 

On opposite ends of the table, Ginny and Harry froze. Luckily for them, Hermione seemed to be the only one who noticed the clang of two forks as they clattered to the table.

 

  


* * * * *

 

 

 

Ginny was having the time of her life. The time of her very short, very _sad_ life. And judging from the look on her mother’s face, it wasn’t going to get any longer.

 

She sat in the kitchen, a room full of arguably the most important adults in her life, as she was forced, against her will, to listen to Harry recounting her worst sins. The only thing that would make this experience truly complete was if Ginny lost what little dinner she had been able to choke down all over the treacle tart.

 

The look on Molly Weasley’s face was nothing short of terrifying, and she hadn’t even heard the really objectionable parts. She never would, if Ginny had any say. And if that bleeding turn-coat, Harry Potter, so far as mentioned it, he’d find a pygmy puff stuffed so far up his arse he’d never be able to speak again. She swore to God.

 

Even after their conversation in the attic about sticking together, Harry was singing like a ruddy magpie on a hyperactivity charm with no concern whatsoever for her side of things. Ginny should have known. She never actually got him to promise. Hell, he couldn’t even meet her eyes after that _last_ dream. He couldn’t get away from that attic, and her, fast enough.

 

Clearly, Harry was completely disgusted by the dream they’d shared. Though, now that Ginny thought about it, she couldn’t understand why. He was a teenage boy for God’s sake. Wasn’t he supposed to be excited about shagging _anyone_? Anyone at all? Well, if he was, _anyone_ did not include Ginny Weasley. Apparently, she was _that_ repulsive.

 

It wasn’t really even Ginny, it was Helana, and _still_ he couldn’t deal. Maybe Harry was a bloody poof. That would explain a lot. She shuttered, imagining Colin’s gloating. Stupid gits, both of them.

 

It made Ginny sick to even look at Harry, sitting there, all mature and annoying, with none of the fear and stammering he had shown earlier in her bedroom. Of course, Harry had to show his _brave_ Gryffindor face to Dumbledore. Or maybe he was still on a high from finding out his two _favorite_ adults were teaching his _favorite_ class. As if the prat wasn’t pampered enough at that school.

 

Throughout the entire recounting, it wasn’t necessary for Ginny to say one bloody word. Nope, Harry was telling Alexi and Helana’s saga in careful, dispassionate detail. Just giving report to the Order. No big deal. Ginny wanted to take that Goddamn cool demeanor and …

 

Maybe _she_ should tell the more objectionable parts, let Harry see what it felt like. Ginny could see their faces now. ‘Mum, Dad, Professors, the reason we kept the watch a secret was because of the _orgasmic_ pleasure. That’s right, as in we had an _actual_ orgasm. Together. Oh, and, every night we got to snog each other’s faces off. There’s been plenty of groping, as well, and last night he had his cock …’

 

Oh hell. _Goddamn_ Harry Potter. Goddamn him to Azkaban and hell and any other horrible place she could find. The bloody wanker.

 

Once Harry finished the story, all _thirteen_ dreams from start to finish, silence reigned. The tense anger and recrimination that filled the room was beyond words. Ginny waited for the inevitable explosion.

 

But instead, Dumbledore broke the quiet with a light tone, “Well, I must say, this _is_ good news. We are now in possession of all three objects, and Voldemort is not. Yes, very good news indeed. Professor Potter, may I inspect the watch?”

 

Adrianna started at the use of her new title. Judging from the way her face twisted, Ginny reckoned she didn’t like it very much. She had no idea what she was getting herself into, and Ginny felt an evil rush of pleasure at the thought. Good. She deserved it. Adrianna could have told them privately, during the _eight_ hours she had Dumbledore and the others to herself. She could have saved Harry and Ginny from this … _inquisition_.

 

“Sure,” Adrianna replied warily as she handed over the watch. She had carefully wrapped it in a handkerchief. Naturally. Couldn’t have anyone else _contaminated_ like Ginny and Harry were.

 

Dumbledore looked it over. “Lovely art—”

 

No one heard the end of the sentence. A loud slap shook the table. Ginny jumped and turned to see her mother, standing, bright red, with her hands flat on the tabletop. And it began.

 

“Of all the irresponsible, dim witted, ridiculously reckless behavior …” At least her mum wasn’t holding anything back. “… I have ever seen, in _all_ my years, _this_ is the worst.” Now _that_ was an exaggeration. Honestly, as if Ginny’s brothers were candidates for the sainthood.

 

But Mrs. Weasley wasn’t finished. “I can’t believe you two _children_ would carry on with such a … _thing_. Well! This just proves that I was right all along. You are too young to be involved with the Order.”

 

Ginny almost laughed. Her mother was beyond predictable. But, of course, Ron was surprised, bursting out, “What! Me and Hermione didn’t do anything!”

 

“Mrs. Weasley—” Harry began in that annoying, rational, look-at-me-I’m-being-mature tone.

 

Thankfully, Adrianna cut Harry off before Ginny vomited … or murdered him. “Molly, that’s a stretch,” she said somberly. “This is enough of a mess without bring up that old argument. They aren’t involved in the Order because they’re old enough. They’re involved because we have no choice. Your agenda here—”

 

Ooo. Despite her sour feelings toward Adrianna, (and everyone else at that moment) Ginny cringed in sympathetic anticipation as Molly Weasley turned the full force of her rage on Adrianna, shrieking, “And _you_ , young lady …” Ginny rolled her eyes. Adrianna was what? Thirty? “Where were _you_ during this ‘mess’? You stay in the room across the hall. You were _supposed_ to be chaperoning them.”

 

“Mum, that’s not fair,” Bill defended softly.

 

But Adrianna shook her head, her expression resigned. “No. She’s right. I should have caught this. I’ve been … _distracted_. It won’t happen again.”

 

Well, that was a pleasant thought. Now that Charlie was gone, they’d have an Empath monitoring their every thought. Wasn’t that just fantastic? Ginny frowned as she watched her mother fall back into her seat with a huff, the wind having been taken from her sails. She clearly wasn’t expecting Adrianna to _agree_ with her. It was a brilliant strategy, really.

 

“Well, it’s too late now, isn’t it,” Molly muttered, unable, it seemed, to come up with a better argument than some ridiculous exaggeration. Too late, Ginny’s arse. It wasn’t as if they were _dead_ or anything.

 

“We’ve failed you,” her mother continued melodramatically. If Ginny rolled her eyes one more time, her eyes were going to cramp up. “All of us failed. It was our job to protect you children. I don’t know where _I’ve_ been—”

 

“No, Mrs. Weasley. It’s my fault,” Harry broke in, being the pansy-arse hero that he was. “I shouldn’t have allowed—”

 

Allowed? Allowed! That was _it_. Ginny had had quite enough. She slammed down her hands in an exact replication of her mother moments before, bounding to her feet, cheeks burning with rage. “Enough! I am fifteen years old, not five. Not one single person here could have stopped me if I wanted to do this.” She punctuated it with a hard look into her mother’s red face, before turning to Harry. “ _No_ one.”

 

Harry looked taken aback, staring at her with wide-eyes. He _always_ underestimated her. Panting, Ginny continued, “Maybe I should have told earlier … but you know what? I’m glad we didn’t!” Take that, sanctimonious gits! “Because this is _exactly_ how you would have reacted and you’d have taken the watch and we’d have no bloody clue Voldemort even wanted it!”

 

Ginny reveled in the rush of self-righteous rage. Of course, it only took five seconds for that to dissipate and than panic started to set in. She forced herself to stand strong, regardless. Mum and Professor McGonagall looked like they were going to collectively burst a blood vessel. Oh God. At least Remus, her father, and Bill seemed mildly amused. And Harry ... he was in utter shock, almost smiling …

 

Well, it was too late to butter her up now, the stupid prat. Ginny sunk back into her seat, breathing heavily and trying not to panic over the wide-eyed stares she was receiving. Why couldn’t she keep her mouth shut?

 

The recriminations began with her mother, naturally, as she burst out with a high-pitched shrill, “Ginevra Weasley—”

 

But she didn’t get to finish. Ginny’s father cut her off, clearing his throat loudly and insistently. “Well, I for one,” he said calmly, “have been overly affected by an enchanted object, once and again. And I would imagine there aren’t many here who couldn’t say the same.” He placed a pointed gaze on his wife and Ginny was suddenly insanely curious about _that_ particular story. “ _Most_ of us don’t have youth and inexperience as an excuse.”

 

Molly sat back with a harrumph and a scowl, but she wilted all the same. Ginny sent her father a small smile in gratitude.

 

“Quite so, Arthur. Quite so,” Dumbledore agreed, nodding sagely, yet keeping his eyes on the watch as he carefully turned it over in his hands.

 

“But Albus,” Professor McGonagall interjected, her tone severe, “we mustn’t overlook how irresponsibly Mr. Potter and Miss Weasley have behaved.”

 

“That is true, Minerva. _However_ ,” the Headmaster finally placed the watch down and turned his full attention to the group, “I do believe that it was out of their hands. I suspect that Mr. Potter and Miss Weasley were meant to find this watch, that it was part of the Destiny Professor Potter is so fond of speaking of.”

 

Adrianna didn’t even try to hide her loud snort, but whether it was brought on by the title that sounded so strange or the talk of Destiny, was anyone’s guess. Bill made his position clear, calling out, “Fond of cursing is more like.”

 

His mother sent him a disapproving glare, before turning it’s full force on Professor Dumbledore. “Albus,” Mrs. Weasley began tersely, “these children have been playing with _Dark_ Magic.”

 

Dumbledore met her gaze evenly. “We have no evidence that it is Dark, Molly.”

 

Ha! Ginny turned triumphantly to Ron, but the gesture was utterly wasted, as the lazy git was paying absolutely no attention, merely staring sightlessly. No wonder he never got anything done.

 

“This Helana and Alexi,” Dumbledore continued, “whose memories seem to be trapped inside this watch. They appear to be on the side of good.”

 

“Hmm,” McGonagall hummed her disagreement. “We don’t now that. We know _nothing_ of them. They are not written of in the history books. Which side they were on in the end is only speculation.”

 

Harry frowned in confusion. “Why would they be written about? We don’t know anything about any—”

 

“But we do,” Hermione piped up, looking as though she was about to burst with ideas and excitement. She had probably been going insane trying to keep quiet and wait until the _real_ debate began. Sometimes, Ginny forgot how different she could be from her brother.

 

“I mean, we can only presume, but it would seem that Hilda is the Empath who attempted to take over Europe and in the process began the cascade of events that led to the Great Massacre of the early sixteenth century.” Hermione took a deep breath (she needed it after what was possibly the longest sentence in history) and looked to Adrianna for approval.

 

But it was McGonagall who stated, “That would be my assumption as well.”

 

Drumming her fingers on the table mindlessly, Adrianna didn’t seem to share Hermione’s enthusiasm. Her tone was bleak as she added, “It’s only speculation, but if we go with that, then we can assume that Stephan was the man who led the Massacre, killing all the Empath families and destroying our history in retaliation for the murder of his wife and son.”

 

McGonagall scoffed, arguing, “Nowhere is it mentioned that it was the brother of the Empath who began the Massacre. That would mean it was his own legacy he was destroying.”

 

Adrianna shrugged. “We could fill libraries with all that’s ‘not mentioned.’ Stephan … or _whoever,_ did their work well. Not a single pre-massacre Empath text survived.”

 

“So, since we know nothing about them, Helana and Alexi _could_ have fought with Hilda or Stephan … or neither,” Tonks pointed out. “All we know is what few memories they’ve _chosen_ to share with us.”

 

Ginny frowned. The mere idea that Helana and Alexi were on Hilda’s side was absurd. They could sit around and argue about what was or was not in musty old books, but Ginny _knew_ Helana. She _wasn’t_ evil.

 

Bill snorted, looking at Tonks in a dismissive sort of way. “Does it matter? Surely, they were murdered. By one or the other’s hands. _All_ Empaths were murdered at that time.”

 

Did it matter? Of course, it mattered. “They are _not_ evil,” Ginny muttered, crossing her arms. Not that anyone was listening to _her_ anyway.

 

“And they didn’t _die_ , either,” Harry said, and it took Ginny a few minutes to realize he was defending her. It was such a rare occurrence. “I mean they died, _obviously_. It was 500 years ago. But someone survived. Their children or something. They _are_ our ancestors.”

 

“We can’t be sure of _that_ , either, Mr. Potter,” Professor McGonagall stated.

 

Unbidden, the image of Alexi above her, clean-shaven and sweaty, appeared in Ginny’s head. She swallowed. “We’re sure. I mean, _I’m_ sure,” she said softly, finding it hard to meet _anyone’s_ eyes. “The resemblance is striking.” After she said it, Ginny could feel Harry’s gaze on her. She turned her face farther away from him.

 

Sitting up even straighter and leaning forward, Hermione asked, practically giddy, “They went to Russia at the end of the last dream, yes? And the Adrianna from the old diary, the one that began the Potter-Brookfield Empath line, she was from Russia, wasn’t she?”

 

Adrianna nodded, staring off, deep in thought. Before she could properly answer, Molly interjected, “ _None_ of this proves that the watch isn’t dangerous _or_ that the magic isn’t Dark.” No one disagreed. Who could?

 

Coming around next to Dumbledore, Remus asked, “May I look at the watch, Albus.” As he examined it, he said thoughtfully, “I know a bloke with a shop on the corner of Diagon and Knockturn Alleys. He specializes in enchanted jewelry. The Dark kind being his particular interest, of course. I could see what he thinks of this.”

 

Remus looked over at Adrianna. As if the watch belonged to her. The implication tugged at Ginny’s insides. It was not _hers_. It was … it was Harry’s … and Ginny’s as well. Helana and Alexi wanted them to have it. She was sure of it.

 

“What about your wand?” Tonks asked. “Do you have any idea why Voldemort might want it?”

 

Adrianna shook her head. “It’s not even family heirloom. I got it from a crazy old guy when I lived in India as a child.”

 

Sitting forward, Harry added, “He said it was meant for you, right?” His cousin nodded, not looking pleased. Ginny remembered the way Adrianna had argued with Charlie, when he insisted Voldemort was after her. Even now, with all this evidence … it seemed it wasn’t _just_ Charlie that had Adrianna being so stubborn.

 

“The wand found its rightful owner,” Dumbledore declared softly, a small smile on his face.

 

“Hey, maybe that’s why you can Apparate it so easily, ‘Dran,” Bill suggested.

 

Adrianna’s frown only depended. She grew more and more uncomfortable with every word that was said. Ginny wished Charlie were here. He wouldn’t let her get away with her denial. He’d be on Ginny’s side. He’d say … He’d say that Adrianna was in serious danger. _Shite_.

 

“Can I …?” Tonks asked, and Adrianna handed her the wand without looking at her. Turning it over in her hands, Tonks remarked, “It’s certainly unusual. What sort of wood is this?”

 

Adrianna didn’t seem to like that question, letting out a deep breath she answered, “I don’t know. No one has ever been able to tell me what type of wood it’s made of or what’s inside.”

 

“And you still use it?” Molly asked, more concerned than accusing.

 

“It’s mine,” Adrianna snapped fiercely. Her tone reminded Ginny of how she felt about the watch. It seemed her father was right. No one in this room should be throwing stones.

 

“Well,” Tonks said, bringing them back to matters on hand, “Ollivander might have some idea about it. He’s on Diagon Alley as well.”

 

Sighing and looking almost depressed, Adrianna muttered, “I suppose we’re going on a fieldtrip then.”

 

For the first time, Ron perked up, “We? All of us? We _do_ need to do school shopping.”

 

Immediately, their mother snapped, “No!”

 

“Mum, we’ve been stuck in this house for a _whole_ month,” Ron whined. Well, the boys _had_ , but their mother didn’t know about Ginny’s little birthday excursion. Thank God.

 

“Molly, it’s not really fair to leave Hermione and Ron behind when we have to take Harry and Ginny,” Adrianna reasoned in a surprisingly non-confrontational way. Wait! Ginny could go? Her heart jumped, just a bit. She was finally going to get out of this bloody building.

 

“And why exactly do you _have_ to take them?” her mother squeaked.

 

“They _do_ know these objects better than anyone, Molly” Remus said softly, almost apologetically. “It would be helpful to have them on hand to answer questions. We’ll keep them safe.”

 

Nodding, Adrianna agreed, “We’ll do a one on one escort.” That sounded highly logical to Ginny. Who could argue with that? “Remus and I will take the two deviants …” Did she say logical? Annoying, was more like it. Adrianna turned to Tonks, asking, “You in?” The other witch nodded and she continued, “Dora can take Hermione and Bill can take Ron. We won’t let them out of our sight,” Adrianna assured.

 

“Hey, don’t I get asked?” Bill bristled.

 

“Nope.”

 

“Well, then,” Molly said, pulling herself up. With new purpose, she leaned toward Adrianna and asked in a commanding tone, “Since these children are getting a lovely trip, what exactly are you going to do about a suitable punishment?”

 

Adrianna’s eyes widened considerably, tensing as she uncharacteristically sputtered, “What? Me?”

 

“Yes, _you_. _You,_ who are about to be a professor, in charge of hundreds of students. _You_ , who are currently the guardian of one exceptionally reckless and impetuous young man. _You_ need to be comfortable handing out appropriate punishments.”

 

Frowning deeply, Ginny stared at Adrianna, waiting for her to tell her mother to go to hell, to tell Mrs. Weasley that she wasn’t _her_ mother and therefore had no right dictating her actions. But instead, Adrianna sat there looking completely flabbergasted. She actually whimpered. _Whimpered_. Great. _Now_ , she decided to stop standing up to Ginny’s mother.

 

“Isn’t _this_ punishment enough,” Ginny muttered, barely recognizing that she said it out loud. Unfortunately, Adrianna heard her loud and clear.

 

She turned and fixed Ginny with a penetrating stare. “No. Actually, I don’t,” Adrianna barked. “You know, we haven’t had the time to go through all those books in the Black library, and it occurs to me that they may be quite useful about now. You and Harry can use your _free_ time, after training, to carefully decontaminate and disenchant each and every book. _Then_ you can get started on research.”

 

What! Ginny could only squeal in outrage. Adrianna turned to Molly as though she were looking for approval, which her stupid mother gladly gave with an arrogant nod of her head. Bloody Goddamn hell! _Now_ they get along. What complete utter bullocks.

 

“But …but,” Harry stuttered, “that will take _months_.”

 

“Well, we’ll just see how far you can get in the next few days,” Adrianna replied in a tone that left no room for argument. “And no, Hermione can not help.”

 

Ginny actually thought she heard the older girl moan in disappointment. Was Ginny the only one here not _completely_ mental? She couldn’t believe this. She was getting detention. In the _summer_. With Harry. _Now_. Possibly the only time in her life when she didn’t want to be alone with Harry, she was stuck in nightly penance with him. Bloody _fantastic_.

 

 

 

 

* * * * *

 

 

 

 

There was no more stubborn witch in the entire magic world than Ginny Weasley. Of that, Harry was certain.

 

He stood in the middle of Diagon Alley, just outside the robe makers shop, starring into her flushed, infuriated, beautiful face, and didn’t know whether he wanted to kiss her or slap her. But since neither option was even close to being viable, Harry would settle for her responding rationally. For _once_.

 

“All I’m saying, Ginny,” Harry began again, trying to keep the frustration in his voice to a minimum, “is that there are a lot of us. It doesn’t make sense for everyone to go into Knockturn Alley. I’ll just go with Remus—”

 

“What you are _saying_ is that Knockturn Alley isn’t safe for a _girl_!” Ginny threw back at him, her eyes shining with rage. “That wizards can protect themselves better than witches can!”

 

All Harry could do after _that_ was stand there, opening and closing his mouth like an idiot and sputtering, “No, no.” What could he say in his defense when there was truth to her charge? Knockturn Alley wasn’t safe, particularly for a girl, and _especially_ for Ginny. “I mean, I have no problem with ‘Drana and Tonks—”

 

“ _Harry_!” Hermione gasped. Damn, he’d forgotten she was there.

 

Luckily or unluckily, Hermione was completely drowned out by Gunny’s loud squeal of outrage. “Of all the overprotective, self-righteous, egotistical _bollocks_!”

 

Harry’s eyes widened as the swearing escalated. A bit panicked, he looked around for help. Ron, his best bet for back up, was staring off, distracted, paying them no attention whatsoever. Great, just great. Hermione was biting her lip and frowning. If she was going to join in it would _not_ be on Harry’s side. Then he’d really be sunk. Remus and Adrianna were watching with a mixture of amusement and annoyance, and annoyance was quickly gaining on amusement. While Bill and Tonks …

 

“Ginny, Harry has a point. Maybe you should—” Bill began.

 

“What, Bill?” Tonks interrupted angrily. “Be a good girl and go get her nails glamoured?”

 

Maybe Harry didn’t need back up after all. He winced as he heard a particularly fierce growl come from Bill as he turned on Tonks. “This has nothing to do with—”

 

“Male superiority shite?” Tonks threw back. “Pretty ironic, actually. Especially given that two of the witches here are highly trained Aurors, while you’re … what exactly? What are your credentials when it comes to protecting these kids? Look, how about we come find you if we find some buried treasure and need someone to—”

 

“ _Dora_!” Bill roared. “I swear to _God_ —”

 

Tonks turned red. “ _Don’t_ call me that, Bill!”

 

Something angry and mean twisted Bill’s face “Why not? It’s your _name_ , isn’t it? Adrianna calls you—”

 

“I _like_ Adrianna.”

 

After that, Harry found it impossible to tell who was yelling which insults. He may have felt guilty for inadvertently starting a war between the sexes if it weren’t for the fact that Bill and Tonks didn’t seem to need much of an excuse. It was strange that he’d known them both for over a year and never seen anything but polite courtesy between them and now … well, it was Ron and Hermione at their worst, or Charlie and Adrianna … Was it the Weasleys, or the woman they chose?

 

Harry looked back at Ginny, as she stood, red-faced and bellowing at him. It was _definitely_ the Weasleys. He didn’t realize that he had stopped listening to her rant, until Ginny stopped abruptly, apparently waiting for an answer to an unknown question.

 

But as Harry had no idea what Ginny said, he stood there like a fool, until she gave another squeal of outrage. “Fine!” she barked, turning sharply and stalking off with her arms tightly crossed.

 

Great. Just wonderful. So much for staying friends once they were back at Hogwarts. It was a ridiculous fantasy anyway. Especially now that Harry was feeling _this_ way toward her and with … _Dean_. As it was, Harry would probably be feeling homicidal on a daily basis anyway.

 

Finally, Remus turned to Adrianna and sighed. “Maybe we _should_ split up.”

 

Adrianna nodded, cringing as Tonks let out a particularly loud shriek. “I would have liked to see that jeweler with you, but as Bill and Tonks can’t be within a hundred feet of one another … I suppose taking them both wasn’t my best idea.” She let out a deep breath, frowning forlornly. “I’ll take the girls and we’ll meet you in the book store around two-ish.”

 

As Adrianna began to walk away, Remus cast a wary glance at the arguing couple, calling behind her, “And why, exactly, do you get Tonks?”

 

Smiling, Adrianna turned and called cheekily, “’Cause I called firsties.”

 

Remus shook his head, fighting a grin as he yelled over the still arguing couple, “You’ve spent far too much time in America, Adrianna.”

 

She laughed and stuck her tongue out at him before turning to extricate Tonks from her row with Bill. Hooking her arm through the other Auror’s, Adrianna yanked her free from the conflict and gestured for Hermione and Ginny to follow. Hermione followed reluctantly, casting a yearning look back at Ron.

 

Ginny, however, protested, “I don’t see why—”

 

“Let’s _go,_ Ginny,” Adrianna insisted and the young witch grudgingly followed, muttering under her breath as they disappeared into the crowd.

 

Wow. Harry had won. Staring after the girls, Harry realized victory … sucked.

 

“Come on, Men,” Remus called, jerking Harry out of his self-pitying stare. He looked back to see his old … no his _professor_ , waiting patiently. It was going to be strange getting back into the habit of calling him by the title again. Harry had just adjusted to his first name. And Adrianna ... well, _that_ would be beyond weird.

 

Bill threw the girls a look of disgust before huffing off in the direction of Knockturn Alley. While Ron, the person he was _supposed_ to be protecting continued stare after them … well, after _Hermione,_ with a blank, tired expression.

 

Damn it. Again, Harry hadn’t thought things through. Maybe Ron wanted Hermione to stay, or maybe he would have rather gone with the girls. All Harry had thought about was his need to make up for his past transgressions, and _this_ time keep Ginny out of harm’s way. Selfish as always.

 

Well, whatever his reason, it was clear Ron had no desire to be in his company. Harry had been naive to think that everything would be cleared up after a simple fistfight. Ron had no reason to forgive Harry, not after everything he’d done and kept from him.

 

Harry just wished he would rage and yell, even snap irritably and make snarky comments. But instead, Ron had been distant and unreachable ever since he left the attic. Harry thought they’d reached a new level in their friendship with their talk …

 

But maybe that was the real reason Ron was so hacked off. Maybe Harry had pushed too hard with the Hermione thing. Or maybe Ron wasn’t as all right with Harry’s feelings for Ginny as he’d seemed. Bloody hell. What was he supposed to do about it now? He’d used up his only idea when he let Ron break his nose.

 

“Harry, Ron,” Remus called, more firmly.

 

Ron finally jolted awake. He took one last look out at the street where the girls had long since disappeared and muttered, “Right, yeah, coming.” Well, there was only one thing left to do. Harry was going to have to _talk_ to Ron. Damn. Shite. Fuck. Things were so much easier when they were eleven. 

 

As casually as he could manage, Harry walked over and came into step next to his best friend. “Hey.” Right. Very articulate. This was going well.

 

“Hey,” Ron returned, though it was more of a grunt than an actual word.

 

“So, um … if you would rather be with the girls …?” Harry offered. Offered what exactly? It wasn’t as though he had the power to change things.

 

Ron snapped his eyes up, looking startled again. “What? No ... no … this is fine …” he trailed off, more distant than ever.

 

Was he _that_ angry with him? Harry was beginning to get worried and a touch annoyed at Ron’s inability to at least talk to him. But that was just Harry’s selfishness getting in the way again.

 

“Look, Ron,” Harry began quietly, hoping Bill and Remus wouldn’t hear. Remus was just a few steps behind them, keeping a close eye out, while Bill kept glancing back, finally having remembered his job. Crap, Harry hated being watched over like a piece of antique china. Hadn’t he survived more encounters with Voldemort than any of them?

“You know how sorry I am about not telling you sooner and about not keeping Ginny safe—”

 

“Yeah, I know, mate,” Ron said evenly, without ire. “You’re watching out for her, I get it.” He even tried to smile, leaving Harry to frown in confusion. If Ron wasn’t angry, why was he acting as if Harry wasn’t even there?

 

“In here,” Remus called, and Harry stopped abruptly, even more confused. The entrance to Knockturn Alley was still several stores down. Harry turned and Remus held out his arm in a gesture indicating that they should enter the brightly lit jewelry store in front of them.

 

Inside, the shop was lined with brightly lit cabinets, filled with glittering jewels that turned about, showing themselves off, becoming more enthusiastic in their twists and turns as an elegant witch or wizard stopped to get a better look. Carefully groomed saleswitches rushed to the aid of the customers, but gave Harry’s group a look of wary distaste, their eyes lingering on Remus’s tattered robs.

 

To Harry’s increasing irritation, the group was largely ignored until Bill flashed a nauseatingly flirtatious smile at one of the shopwitches. Then she blushed and scampered over, only too eager to help.

 

“Can I help you?” the girl asked brightly. “Gift for your girlfriend perhaps?” Her coy smile said she hoped not.

 

But Bill didn’t answer. Instead, Remus announced quietly, “We’re here to see Brisbane.”

 

The girl’s eyes narrowed and her frown deepened. “There is another entrance for that, you know,” she hissed, her eyes darted around to see if anyone was looking.

 

Harry had had quite enough rudeness and disrespect. Stepping forward, he began, “Remus, I’m _sure_ —”

 

But he was cut off by a loud gasp as the witch looked at him for the first time. Harry turned to find her eyes glued to his forehead. Bloody fantastic. “Brisbane?” Remus reminded, his casual smile not wavering.

 

“Right, of course. This way,” the witch muttered as she waved her wand and a section of the counter disappeared. Just once, Harry would have liked to accomplish something without flashing his damn scar.

 

The witch led them through a door and down a progressively dimmer hallway into a large room that was dark reflection of the first. Only this one was dimly lit and the few scattered displays glowed with powerful shields. Some of the jewels were strange and menacing looking, while others were bland and nonthreatening, or beautifully seductive.

 

An older, extremely well-dressed, well-manicured man was the only attendant there. The wizard, Brisbane apparently, stepped forward with the bright smile of a salesman. “Thank you, Charity,” he said, and Harry rolled her eyes at the extremely inappropriate name. “Best to get back to _Glinda’s_ now. It’s a busy day.”

 

The girl curtsied and hurried away, as if she couldn’t get out of there fast enough. Harry understood her trepidation. The room practically reeked of Dark Magic. Once she was gone, Brisbane’s eyes carefully traveled the group, and Harry stepped back into the shadows, hoping he wouldn’t notice his scar.

 

“Remus, to what do I owe this pleasure? Surely, you’re not looking to buy something. Selling, perhaps?”

 

Again, Harry felt a burst of anger, but if Remus felt the same he gave no indication, simply saying, “More of a consultation.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out the watch. As the handkerchief fell away, Harry felt a pull in the center of his chest and took several steps forward before he could stop himself.

 

Brisbane jerked back a bit at the sight of the watch and carefully waved his wand over it. Immediately, the wizard relaxed. “I didn’t know werewolves were so cautious.” He laughed caustically as he snatched it up, causing Harry’s heart to lurch. His eyes were glued to the way the wizard ran his slimy hands over _his_ watch. Harry’s leg began to bounce restlessly as he struggled to contain himself.

 

“Circa 1540 or so. Russian. Fine artistry. Nothing particularly menacing,” Brisbane said casually. Harry’s fists clenched as he watched the vile man try to pry the watch open. “Rusty on your unlocking spells, Lupin. Need me to—”

 

“No!” Harry burst out, lunging forward and reaching for the watch. But Bill restrained him before he could get to it, leaving him to take deep calming breathes as four pairs of eyes looked at him as if he were mad. Perhaps he was.

 

“Harry,” Ron said softly. Was he offering his support or a warning?

 

Either way, it startled Brisbane, whose expression quickly lost its careful arrangement. “Harry? Harry Potter?” No one answered, but no one needed to.

 

The man frowned deeply. Looking at the watch with new respect, he brought it over to the light. “This is your watch?” he asked Harry, who just snarled in response. “What _have_ you brought me, Lupin?” Brisbane wondered aloud.

 

“Harry, tell him what it does,” Remus instructed, and Harry looked at him in disbelief. This man could very easily be working for Voldemort.

 

“Isn’t he supposed to tell us,” Harry snapped, earning an amused look from the proprietor.

 

“Harry,” Remus warned, his eyes admonishing.

 

Unbelievable. Fucking wonderful. Harry grunted, shaking off Bill’s hands. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to tell this _extremely_ untrustworthy wizard about his family treasure. In the most condensed manner possible, of course.

 

When he was done, Brisbane ran his thumb over the watch, this time with something like reverence. “Fascinating. Well, Mr. Potter, you have yourself a Soul Keeper. I haven’t seen one of these in 40 years.”

 

Harry’s heart rate accelerated. He barely heard anything after the name. “Soul Keeper. Does that mean someone’s soul is _trapped_?” Alexi or Helana. It was horrifying.

 

Brisbane had the nerve to laugh. “No, of course not. It’s just a reflection, a mirrored image.” He handed the watch back to Remus. “No need for your kerchief,” he said with a sickening air of superiority. “These are designed so that only a person or persons with the right … _requirements_ can trigger it.”

 

“What requirements?” Bill asked hastily, undoubtedly thinking about his sister. It gave Harry a chill. _Ginny_.

 

Brisbane shrugged, clasping his hands nonchalantly. “An ancestor. Someone with a particular destiny, perhaps.” His sly glance settled on Harry. “Could be anything, really. But these aren’t easy to make. It’s painful and difficult magic. If someone just wanted their story told, they’d leave a diary. One creates a Soul Keeper so someone will _relive_ their experiences. One wouldn’t want to waste that on just anyone.”

 

“Is it Dark Magic?” Ron asked, his question making Harry’s stomach clench.

 

Again, the wizard shrugged. “Not necessarily. It all depends on the intent. The magic itself isn’t, but it can lead to … _Dark_ things.” Brisbane seemed almost pleased at the idea. “Often Soul Keepers are motivated by revenge or fear. They completely entrap the people who trigger it. Suicide, murder can result. I believe at least one of the larger Muggle wars were begun by one.”

 

“It can affect Muggles?” Bill asked skeptically.

 

“It can affect _anyone_ it’s designed to affect.”

 

Harry’s mind raced. Was it reversible? What had he done to Ginny? Of course, she chose Dean. Why would she want someone who so carelessly threw her into the path of danger?

 

Harry barely heard Remus’s final questions of Brisbane. Before he knew what was happening the professor was handing over a handful of gallons and ushering them out the long hallway. Vaguely, Harry wondered where Remus had come up with so much money and hoped that it came from the Order's coffers and not his own. Maybe he should offer to pay him back. It was _his_ fault after all. But he knew Remus would take that as an insult.

 

The group was sullen as they made their way out of the store. After that brief period of alertness, Ron immediately sunk back into a trance-like state. Harry was feeling too miserable to do much about it.

 

In an obvious attempt to lighten the mood, Remus brought them to the Quidditch Supply Shop, which did not work at all. They gave up quickly and headed for the Leaky Cauldron for lunch. Harry knew he wasn’t the only one hoping that the girls would be there when they arrived.

 

Of course, that would require that at last one of them had some sort of luck. There was no sight of the girls in the lunch crowd. They found a table in the corner where Remus could keep an eye on Harry and Ron while he and Bill went to order at the bar.

 

Ron fell into his chair with a grunt, running his hand over his face, looking lost. This was getting ridiculous. Taking a deep breath, Harry asked almost desperately, “Ron, what’s wrong? If it’s what I did—”

 

“It’s not,” Ron said quickly, his eyes briefly on Harry’s before moving to the table where he drummed his fingers, anxiously. “Harry, I … it’s something … I’m just confused about something.”

 

Swallowing, Harry forced himself to ask, “Can I help?”

 

Ron laughed, shooting him a grateful if miserable glance. “No offence, mate, but I don’t think you have the experience I need.”

 

“Maybe you could ask Remus or Bill,” Harry suggested, trying to be as helpful as possible just in case part of Ron really was still sore with him. But Ron just looked more miserable and anxious at the idea, his fingers now drumming at a dizzying pace.

 

“Here we are, mates,” Bill said as he took a seat next to Ron. Remus followed and then a waitress with Butterbeers.

 

Ron began to sweat and by the time the waitress was gone he looked as though he were ready to explode. Finally unable to drum any faster, Ron slapped his hand down and turned to his brother with a wild expression. “Bill, if I were to … If I were to ask you a _very_ serious question, could we keep it to ourselves?”

 

Bill’s lip quirked with amusement as he leaned back, “Sure little brother, what do you have on your mind?”

 

Ron took a deep breath and for a moment Harry thought he was going to pass out. Then in a rush, he asked, “How do you know …? What does it feel like …? I mean, what does it mean to be in love?”

 

Harry sprayed half the table with what was once a mouth-full of Butterbeer. Choking, he noticed a brief flash of fear of Bill’s face, just before the waitress interrupted them with their sandwiches.

 

Remus smiled up at her and tapped his Butterbeer. “I think we might need something a bit stronger.”

  


 

* * * * *


	40. With Age, Wisdom?

“How do you know …? What does it feel like …? I mean, what does it mean to be in love?”

 

Ron couldn’t believe he was actually asking the question, asking _Bill_ of all people. But he hadn’t been able to think of anything else since that bloody dream-trance-thingy, and it was getting fucking ridiculous. Ron considered the possibility that he may well have gone insane, but one thing was for certain. He was desperate. And desperate men made _stupid_ decisions.

 

All around him important things were happening, essential life-and-death-to-the-people-he-loved things. One would _think_ that Ron would be able to pay some Goddamn attention. But no matter how much effort he put into staying alert it was mere minutes before he sank back into his obsessive thoughts of Hermione and the words that he had subconsciously inserted into her mouth. Why would he make her say something he didn’t even understand? It made _no_ sense.

 

Ever since it happened, Ron had been trying not think about it, to distract himself, but so far the only thing that gave him any peace, ironically, was Practicing with Hermione. And he had _fully_ explored that particular technique the night before. Yet, when Hermione finally fell into an exhausted sleep this nagging _feeling_ was stronger than ever. In the end, Ron spent the remainder of the night pacing, no clear answer in sight.

 

And so, here he was, desperate, clinging to his last thread of sanity, in the middle of a war, obsessed with the barmy concept of ‘in love,’ reduced to asking his older brother for advice. _Bill_ , who was, next to the twins, possibly the most likely to ridicule and humiliate him. Actually, now that he thought about it, Ron might even have better luck with George. _If_ he could manage to get him alone, that was.

 

“I think we might need something a bit stronger,” Remus told the waitress with a calm smile. Thank God he was here. And Harry. Thank _God_ for Harry, who, poor bloke, was still recovering from choking on his Butterbeer. Ron should probably have helped him, but he was having trouble moving.

 

“Firewhiskey,” Bill clarified, looking a bit ruffled. Which was good. A ruffled Bill was better than a smug, sarcastic Bill.

 

“And some nice weak mead,” Remus told the waitress, gesturing to the two underaged members of the party and making Ron frown. If _anyone_ needed a good glass of Firewhiskey right now, it was him.

 

The waitress left and Bill turned his full attention to Ron. “So, little brother, you want to know about love?” And just like that, all apparent nervousness was gone, replaced with that blasted superior smile. “Now why, pray tell, do you want to know? Does this have anything to do with a certain not-so-bushy-haired friend of ours, who is clearly _not_ your girlfriend? Hmm?”

 

Shite! Shite! Shite! Well, this is what he expected, wasn’t it? Ron deserved this for being stupid enough to ask for Bill’s help with something so important. The Goddamn prick.

 

“I’m just curious! This has _nothing_ to do with Hermione,” Ron denied, gripping the arms of the chair so tightly he lost feeling in his fingertips. Everyone there might know exactly why he was asking, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to admit it and give his brother more ammunition. “You know what, Bill? Forget it. I should have known better than to ask _you_?”

 

Ron shoved his untouched food away from him angrily, suddenly feeling suffocated. He needed to get the hell out of there. He began to stand, but Harry grabbed his forearm, saying softly, “Don’t …” Clearing his throat, Harry turned to Bill and Remus and said in a mildly terrified tone, “I’d like to know about … _love_ ,” his voice squeaked on the last word. “I mean, I’m curious as well.”

 

Remus smiled at them both in a fatherly way. “I’m sure we can help you two out. Isn’t that right, _Bill_?”

 

Ron felt a sudden wash of relief and gave his best friend a small, grateful smile. Ok, then. He wasn’t alone. He was going to get his answers. Oh God, what if he didn’t like the answers? Were there _any_ answers that would actually make him feel better? He rubbed his hands together nervously.

 

Bill sighed, looking somewhat contrite at least. “Sorry, Ron. I didn’t mean … you know there’s nothing _wrong_ with fancying Hermione—” Ron growled and Bill threw up his hands in defeat. “Ok. Fine. Not about Hermione. I get it, mate.”

 

Rubbing his forehead, Bill sat back. Ron had never seen his brother look so old. “You know, you’re probably right. I’m not the brother best suited for this conversation … oh, thank _God_ ,” Bill breathed as the waitress reappeared with their drinks. He grabbed a glass of Firewhiskey and took a long drink. Then sighing deeply, he muttered, “Charlie knows a whole lot more about _love_ than I do.”

 

Ron exchanged a confused and surprised look with Harry. If charming, fun-loving Bill didn’t know about love, then who did? “Charlie’s not here,” Ron responded softly. Besides, did he really want _Charlie’s_ love life as a model? It was hardly uplifting.

 

“No, he’s not,” Bill murmured, his tone bitter, as he watched the amber liquid swirl in his glass.

 

“Haven’t you been in love, Bill?” Harry asked quietly, once again proving he was braver than Ron would ever be.

 

Laughing caustically, Bill muttered, “I used to think so.” He drained his glass and motioned for the waitress. Closing his eyes, Bill’s face took on a pained expression. “No, I was in love. _Once_.”

 

For some reason, the way he said it made Ron’s stomach turn sour. With sudden clarity, he realized that whatever Bill was going to tell him, whatever his experience was, it wasn’t going to leave him with any more hope than Charlie would. Ron had grown up thinking that Charlie and Bill led charmed lives. They were perfect and got whatever they wanted. It was becoming increasingly clear that Ron knew almost nothing about them.

 

“What about Fleur? Don’t you ... you _know_?” Harry asked apprehensively and in a sudden burst of clarity, Ron realized that he already knew the answer. There was no way his brother was in love with Fleur. Not really.

 

Bill flashed Harry a brief but intense look, before shrugging casually. “Sure, I love Fleur. But that’s not what Ron, here, is talking about. He’s talking about the kind of love that eats at a bloke, makes it so he can’t think about anything but the bird, fills him with so much lust and _need_ that he can barely stand it. That right?”

 

Ron couldn’t meet Bill’s eyes. His heart was pounding so hard he thought he might choke. Nodding sharply, he grabbed his glass of mead. Bill’s words hit far too close for comfort.

 

His older brother motioned for the waitress again, calling out, “More Firewhiskey and just bring the bottle this time.”

 

“Careful there, Bill,” Remus warned, watching him warily. The younger wizard was already well on his way to getting himself completely pissed. Ron wondered how many glasses of this mead stuff it would take to join him. Would that help? Make the … _discomfort_ go away?

 

Bill waved Remus off with a drunken flick of his wrist. “So, where were we? Right. _That_ kind of love. Feels fantastic … _when_ she’s with you. Intoxicating, dangerous, pure living fire. Then, of course, the fire burns out and all that’s left is a scorched and burned out shell.”

 

“ _Bill_ ,” Remus snapped, rather irritated now.

 

But Ron didn’t want Bill to stop. He was making sense. Bill understood the way he was feeling. That’s why, against his better judgment, Ron leaned forward and asked, “Is that what happened with you and Tonks?”

 

The anger that flared in Bill’s blue eyes made Ron instantly regret the question. “You want Hermione’s name kept out of this?” his older brother barked. “Then you keep Dora out of it. That clear?”

 

Ron nodded quickly, swallowing. It was clear. It was _completely_ clear that Tonks— _Dora_ was the one responsible for the pained look in Bill’s eyes and the bitterness in his tone. Just because they weren’t saying Hermione’s name didn’t mean that this wasn’t entirely about her.

 

The Firewhiskey arrived and Bill took a swig straight from the bottle. “So … love?” His voice was starting to take on that heavy intoxicated feel. “Yes, love. Wonderful, fantastic, brilliant _love_ —”

 

“Yes, it _is_ ,” Remus said firmly. He snatched the Firewhiskey away from Bill and placed it on the other end of the table, shooting the younger wizard an angry look.

 

Turning his full attention to Harry and Ron, Remus took control of the conversation. “It is true that love does not always turn out the way we might hope. And it _can_ be very painful when things end …” He looked at Bill pointedly, who just rolled his eyes and slumped down into his chair. “But that _doesn’t_ mean that the experience itself was any less wonderful.”

 

Ron looked over and met Harry’s eyes in a moment of shared discomfort and curiosity. His best friend was sitting stiffly, holding his half empty glass of mead in both hands. After a moment, Harry cleared his throat and asked carefully, “Have you ever been in love, Professor?”

 

Remus chuckled, presumably at Harry’s slip back into using his title. It was strange, yet appropriate. Even though the subject matter was intimate, at the moment, Remus was very much the kind and patient Professor they once knew. “Yes, I have indeed, Harry.”

 

With a prickle of fear, Ron realized that he probably didn’t want to hear this story. It couldn’t end well. Why was _everyone’s_ story tragic? Charlie’s was starting to seem down right optimistic. Maybe Ron should take a bloody Portkey to Romania. Not to get answers, just to get the hell away from his wretched life.

 

Unfortunately, Harry did not share his desire to keep this particular story unsaid. His eyes shined with curiosity as he asked, “What happened?” Wasn’t that obvious? She was dead or she left him. Either way, Ron had no desire to hear the details. “I mean,” Harry clarified, “who was she? I mean—”

 

Chuckling again, Remus held up his hand, “I understand, Harry. It’s fine. She was … she was a girl I knew from Hogwarts. We were only together a year or so, but … well, it certainly wasn’t an experience I would trade, regardless of how it ended.”

 

Bill snorted and in a quick motion succeeded in reaching over and snatching back the bottle of Firewhiskey. Remus gave him a disapproving glare as he took a careful sip of his own drink. Well, this was depressing. And Harry _liked_ to be depressed, so, of course, he asked, “Why did it end? Did she … did she die in the war?”

 

The sorrow on Remus’ face was more heart breaking than any of Bill’s bitterness, but he smiled, as that was the sort of bloke he was, and said, “No, she didn’t die. As far as I know, she is alive and well. Though the war was _influential_.” He broke off and took another drink, carefully schooling his features.

 

Wonderful. A war-destroyed-my-love-life story. This should be truly inspiring. Maybe next they could talk about Harry’s parents and how they lived just long enough to have a baby and _die_. Comparably, it was a down right sunny story.

 

Would _this_ war be the end of Ron and Hermione’s … their what? They _weren’t_ together. He had _no_ idea what he felt for her. But even if he _was_ in love with her and even if she was in love with him (a rather big ‘if’) and even if the war ended, miraculously, how could a relationship between them possibly work when they were so unevenly matched?

 

Mirroring his brother, Ron downed the rest of his drink and grabbed for his Butterbeer, hoping the waitress would take the hint and bring him more mead.

 

“It was also …” Remus continued, more cautiously this time. “Well, it was also the werewolf … _issue_.”

 

Harry took a hissing breath. “She left you because of _that_!” he blurted out, accusation in his voice.

 

Remus smiled at Harry’s loyalty. “No. It wasn’t like that. When she found out she was frightened, naturally. More for me than for her own safety. But I think … I _believe_ that we could have got beyond that if it weren’t for the war, but together it was too much for her. She was a Hufflepuff girl, you see. Lovely and kind, but reckless courage didn’t come as easily to her as is does to us.”

 

There was no reproach or bitterness in Remus’ voice. He just smiled wistfully. “She was far too practical, far too _peaceful_ to stay. She left the magical world, went to live a safer life, among the Muggles.”

 

Ron struggled to suppress a sneer of disgust. She sounded like a right coward to him. It wasn’t like him and Hermione at all. That girl was _nothing_ like his Hermione.

 

There was silence after that, not tense so much as sad. They even tried to eat their lunch, but Remus was the only one who was even mildly successful. Maybe he was more used to the sadness. When one felt it every day they couldn’t let it get in the way of their eating habits or they’d starve. Ron forced down another bite.

 

It looked as though the ridiculously painful conversation was over, with Ron having learned a lot about Bill and Remus, but very little about love, other than it often ended badly. But then Remus wiped his hands on a napkin and said, “Well, Ron, I don’t believe we properly answered your question.”

 

Right. Exactly. What if Ron didn’t want it answered anymore? What if the only question he had left was where did he catch the next Portkey to Romania?

 

“You wanted to know what being in love feels like, yes? That was your question?” Remus asked and Ron could only grunt his assent. “Well, I’ll do my best. Love feels like …” Remus sighed, smiling with self-reproach. “You do know how to ask the difficult ones don’t you? Love feels like … warmth … comfort … completion. It feels like—”

 

Bill broke him off with a harsh laugh, “Fire and acid. Love feels like obsession and desperation—”

 

 “Occasionally,” Remus agreed, putting out a hand as if to ward Bill off. “ _But_ it also feels … closer than the closest of friendships, more exciting than flying, more terrifying than falling. It’s connecting completely with another person—”

 

“Losing yourself, you mean. It’s losing yourself so completely that you don’t know where you end and she begins,” Bill added passionately and the most frightening part was that it was his words that Ron could relate to. Every bloody word.

 

“Yes, but in the end you’re happy to be lost,” Remus explained and Ron could understand that as well. “Somehow, being with her makes you feel like a better person, feel like the _best_ person in the world. All you want is to make her happy. It’s more important—”

 

“Than anything. You’d _die_ for her. Nothing means more than her safety. _Nothing_.” The look on Bill’s face when he said it was nothing short of tortured. Did he _still_ feel that way about Tonks? Would Ron feel this way about Hermione in ten years … longer even? “No matter what she does, no matter how much she changes or—”

 

Remus frowned, raising his voice and interrupting, “Love is friendship and caring and desire. Yet, it’s somehow more than the sum of its parts. It—”

 

“It feels like the worst jealousy you’ve ever felt, like you’re being torn apart.” Bill smiled as he said it, as if overpowering Remus was now a game, a competition to get their version of love across. “When she’s not with you, you feel empty. When she’s with another bloke you feel murderous. When she doesn’t want you, you never want to breathe again …” Bill trailed off, the game suddenly forgotten.

 

“Bill, please now,” Remus reprimanded softly. Didn’t he want them to know the truth? Ron _knew_ everything Bill said was spot on. That last part … that was what he felt every day. But still Remus tried to sugarcoat it. “What’s important is that when one is in love the other person means more to them than anything or anyone. You cherish and adore them. It means—”

 

“Shite. It means _shite_. Don’t give me that look,” Bill spat at Remus. “Don’t tell me with the experience you’ve had that love is roses and sunshine and all that romantic crap. It’s blood and it’s pain and it _ends_. It always _ends_ and when it does, it leaves you desperate and everything after feels somehow less. No matter how many years pass.”

 

Yes. Bill understood. Ron gaped at him and tried his best to keep breathing as he saw himself slowly turn into the bitter man before him.

 

“It doesn’t always _end_ , Bill,” Remus said, more gently this time.

 

“Really? Give me _one_ example,” he demanded. But then Bill interrupted before Remus could speak, “ _Besides_ my parents, _who_ I will allow you as the one exception. Name one couple where one, or both, didn’t die or leave or cheat or just plain crush the other person? Because I can’t think of any.”

 

Remus’ lips thinned. As much as everyone there wanted him to, it was clear he didn’t have an example to give. “These are hard times, Bill,” he reasoned gently. “That doesn’t mean we should give up on love entirely.”

 

Bill’s voice was loud and angry as he spat, “You know, I used to be that naive once. Even _after_ everything fell apart with Dora.” Her name to slip out easily, proving how drunk Bill must really be. Everything was spilling out now. Ron could see all the dark things that lurked inside his brother.

 

“I hoped there was still love out there. I believed it was worth looking for. And you know why, because I _saw_ it.” Bill took a deep, shaky breath. “My little brother, my best friend, my Goddamn hero, had the best _damn_ relationship I’d ever seen. Seven years they were together. They looked like a fucking storybook.”

 

Adrianna and Charlie. Why did it _always_ come back to Adrianna and Charlie? Everywhere Ron turned, he was haunted by their fucking disaster of a relationship.

 

Bill went to pick up the bottle again, but pushed it away in disgust. Looking around at the stricken faces around him, he grinned bitterly. “You see how they are now? The anger and the bitterness and the constant battle. It wasn’t like this. In all the time I knew them, never once did I see them fight. Not _once_. They were … if _they_ can’t make it then … then love is shite. It’s not real.”

 

He deflated after his attack, leaving Ron feeling as though he had been punched. It looked as though Remus was gearing up to _again_ try to soften Bill’s words, to somehow protect Ron and Harry’s tender sensibilities. Well, they weren’t so naïve. And what could Remus say anyway? Was there anything left that wouldn’t just confuse Ron even more?

 

But maybe Ron wasn’t confused about his feelings any longer. Maybe now, he was just terrified.

 

 

 

* * * * *

 

  


“Goddamn. Stupid idiot. Wretched, bloody wanker. Complete bullocks is what it is,” Ginny muttered through clenched teeth as she made her way down the street, leaving bloody Harry Potter and his stupid holier than thou hero shite behind. “ _Bastard_.”

 

“All right there, Ginny?” Hermione asked softly, as she struggled to keep up with her frantic, angry pace. Ginny didn’t bother slowing down … or answering. Wasn’t it obvious that she wasn’t all right? Bloody daft question.

 

“ _Ginny_!” Adrianna snapped from behind her, in a tone not to be disobeyed. Though, Ginny really _really_ wanted to.

 

Huffing her annoyance and wrapping her arms more tightly around herself, Ginny turned around and gave Adrianna her best irate teenager expression, completely with eye roll and tapping foot.

 

But instead of the fight she wanted, Ginny got a sympathetic smile. _That_ she could have fought, but paired with the look of despondent compassion from Tonks, whose arm was still joined with Adrianna’s in miserable female solidarity, Ginny didn’t have a chance.

 

Adrianna held out her free arm in invitation, calling, “C’mere.”

 

But still Ginny wasn’t willing to give in quite that easily and whined, “Men suck.”

 

“Very true,” Adrianna agreed with a small laugh and Ginny gave in. But not without another eye roll and a rebellious flip of her hair for good measure. Adrianna wrapped her arm around the younger witch’s shoulder and Ginny found herself leaning against her.

 

She wished her idiot brother hadn’t messed up so badly. She’d always wanted a sister. “Why are men so stupid?” Ginny whispered against her shirt.

 

“It’s in the genes, I suppose,” Adrianna responded dryly. “It’s best you find out now. Wouldn’t want to get your expectations too high.”

 

“Adrianna!” Hermione admonished, but then laughed with the rest of them. Ginny also noted that Hermione _didn’t_ contradict her.

 

“Well, _I_ , for one,” Tonks joined in with a dramatic sigh, “have decided that men aren’t worth the effort. Do you think I’ll make a good lesbian?” Hermione gasped and gave a shocked giggle. Ginny felt somewhat better and she smiled over at Tonks, who grinned back widely.

 

“No. At best, you’d be a mediocre lesbian,” Adrianna answered seriously. “To be really _good_ one you have to actually be attracted to girls,”

 

“Damn.”

 

After a moment of feigned solemness, they all laughed. Once she was back to herself, Hermione asked, “Where are we going? The sign said Mr. Ollivander won’t be back until one?”

 

Adrianna shrugged, looking at Tonks, who answered, “Personally, I’m in the mood for a good mope. I know the owner of a lovely café with lots of comfort food.” Smiling at Adrianna, she added, “And the most brilliant Blackberry wine.”

 

Apparently, a good mope sounded good to all, because no one offered a dissenting opinion and soon they were being escorted to an empty upstairs dining room by a bubbly proprietress who seemed to think Tonks was the best thing since self-slicing bread.

 

They were just settling into the comfy, if overly frilly, chairs, when the table was suddenly littered with various delicious looking snacks and two rather large bottles of Blackberry wine. Adrianna raised an eyebrow, looking at Tonks with a questioning expression.

 

“What?” Tonks asked with a cheeky smile. “One for you. One for me.” Adrianna tried to look disapproving but ended up laughing.

 

Ginny couldn’t help but grin. Blackberry wine. Oh, what she wouldn’t do to get back that blissful stupidity she felt at her birthday party. “Can we have some?” she asked, giving Adrianna her best, most convincing, pleading expression.

 

“Ginny,” Hermione admonished quickly, but she had that look in her eye. The one that said that under her careful veneer was a teenager who wanted nothing more than to get blissfully pissed.

 

Adrianna gave them a disapproving look, but it was half-hearted and after a minute she said, “Fine, but I’m cutting it with soda water.” Pouring, she muttered to herself, “A great professor I’m going to be.”

 

Tonks grinned widely, holding up her glass, “May every kid have a professor like you, mate. Cheers.”

 

“Cheers,” came the laughing chorus as their glasses collided.

 

Ginny noticed that Hermione didn’t protest again and drank readily enough. They’d turn her into a normal teenager yet. Then Ginny remembered how Adrianna had to drag Hermione away from the library the night before so that she wouldn’t _help_ with their detention. Maybe not _that_ normal.

 

Lounging back in her seat, Tonks settled in with a contented sigh. “Now _this_ is better. Not a bloke in sight.”

 

Ginny nodded, remembering her torturous, _silent_ detention with Harry. She _really_ needed this wine. She took a drink of the dark, sweet liquid. Oh, _so_ much better than Firewhiskey. Mmm. “I’m sick and tired of them all,” she declared, already feeling a tad giddy. “Stupid bloody blokes. They can all go jump off a ruddy cliff for all I care. Especially, the overprotective, domineering, self-righteous ones.”

 

“Isn’t that all of them?” Tonks retorted glibly, taking her wine in gulps instead of sips.

 

“Just the good ones,” Adrianna said so softly Tonks couldn’t hear, but Ginny could have sworn she saw her wink at Hermione, who giggled behind her hand in response.

 

Feeling a bit of that liquid courage, Ginny turned on Adrianna. She wasn’t going to let a comment like _that_ slide. “If they’re so good, why did you ditch Charlie?”

 

Adrianna laughed. “Oh ho! Who said I ditched Charlie?”

 

A tingle of excitement settled in Ginny’s stomach. This was her chance. “Then what _did_ happen?” she asked as casually as she could manage.

 

But as good an actress as Ginny was, Adrianna was still an Empath and she laughed outright at the attempt. “You’ll have to try harder than that to get that particular story out of me.” She grinned cryptically over her wine glass. “I’ll tell you this much, it wasn’t because he was overprotective, domineering, or self-righteous. If that was going to break us up, we wouldn’t have lasted two days.”

 

Hermione giggled again and Tonks chuckled. Even Ginny couldn’t help but smile, even if Adrianna won … for now. Ginny was far from defeated. She considered herself challenged. She was _going_ to find out what happened between Adrianna and Charlie if it was the last thing she did.

 

“Well,” Hermione said conversationally, “we’re actually lucky in the Magical world. The Muggle world is still very sexist. A _witch_ can be anything she wants.”

 

Adrianna and Tonks both froze, first looking at Hermione in disbelief, and then at one another before bursting out laughing.

 

“What?” Hermione demanded, clearly affronted. “No one has ever made a sexist comment to me about being the top student of my year. In the Muggle world, there’s this … _undertone_ , especially in the older generation, that girls should be at home, that they shouldn’t outshine the boys. Here we are Professors, Healers, Officials, Aurors—”

 

“Yeah?” Adrianna asked with a raised eyebrow. “And besides the two of us here, how many female Aurors do you know?”

 

“None. But I don’t know many—” Hermione argued.

 

“And how many Death Eaters are female?” Tonks threw in bitterly. “Men out number women 20 to 1 in their ranks. The Auror department isn’t that bad, maybe 5 to 1. But when it comes down to it, good or evil, all men are the same.”

 

“Overprotective, domineering, self-righteous gits,” Ginny supplied merrily, enjoying Hermione’s discomfort for some reason. Ginny had understood the gender barriers in the Wizarding world since before she could walk. After all, it wasn’t called the Witching world, now was it?

 

Hermione tried again to prove her point, “But—”

 

Tonks, however, was having none of that, and leaned forward, saying, “Wizards are fine with witches being smart, Hermione. They have … _little_ problem with us teaching, or researching, or healing, or even being in the government … for the most part, but when it comes to putting us into a battle situation …” She threw up her hands as if to say, there you have it.

 

Adrianna continued for her, “It’s ingrained in the male species, imprinted in their very bones. They _must_ protect us.” Despite her sarcastic tone, Adrianna didn’t seem overly bothered by this, Tonks on the other hand …

 

“They get off on the idea that we’re weak. They’re threatened by the mere idea that we might not need them _every_ waking minute,” Tonks bit out contemptuously, taking a long drink of her wine and reaching to fill it again.

 

 “Well,” Adrianna said cautiously, clearly not of such a strong opinion, “it’s true that strong women—”

 

“Make men’s bullocks shrink back into their body?”

 

Ginny burst out laughing, doubling over in mirth, spurred on by the shocked expression on Hermione’s face.

 

“Only with _some_ men,” Adrianna argued. “Men are just wired a certain way. Their self-esteem is contingent on protecting us, whether we need it or not. Harry feels he failed in that.” Ginny stiffened immediately, all laughter leaving her as she met Adrianna’s even gaze. “He’s a bit desperate to make up for it.”

 

For a moment, Ginny felt herself weaken towards him … _No_! Adrianna was just taking his side because she was his cousin. “Harry’s a prat.” A prat that Ginny had worked for _weeks_ to get to treat her like an equal, and now he was back to treating her like some Goddamn china doll. It was inexcusable.

 

“Maybe,” Adrianna responded evenly. “I’m not saying it’s rational, just that sometimes guys are … _prats_ when they care about a girl. They have no idea how else to be.”

 

Ginny narrowed her eyes at Adrianna, her anger rising. “So, this lovely, understanding attitude of yours, it worked wonders with my brother, did it?” she challenged.

 

Adrianna didn’t take the bait, just smiled back evenly. “It got me seven years. Not bad considering I should have been dead four years ago.”

 

Her words were unexpected and disarming, revealing vulnerability regarding her mortality and Charlie at the same. Ginny wrinkled her nose. Adrianna was just trying to soften her. Well, it wasn’t going to work. She was right hacked off at Harry, and men in general, and she had every intention of staying that way.

 

It was time for another strategy. Ginny turned to Tonks, who was well into her second glass of wine. “What about you, Tonks? I bet Bill was an overprotective, domineering, self-righteous—”

 

“Prick. An overprotective, domineering, self-righteous _prick_ , is what he was— _is_ ,” Tonks raged sitting up and leaning forward, her eyes bright.

 

Ginny hid a smile. She couldn’t resist sending a small triumphant look to Adrianna. Just because she wouldn’t talk about her idiot brother’s private life, didn’t mean Ginny wasn’t going to get her dirt. Adrianna just shook her head, amused, but she knew Ginny won this one.

 

“You want to know what it’s like to be a witch in a wizard’s world?” Tonks asked, and Hermione nodded eagerly. They were _so_ easy. “You want to know what it’s like to date a Weasley?”

 

Ginny’s eyes lit up and Hermione leaned forward, her food pushed aside and forgotten. Adrianna crossed her arms and leaned back, teasing, “Plan on dating a Weasley sometime soon, Gin?”

 

Scrunching up her nose, Ginny sent Adrianna a look that showed she did _not_ appreciate her daft attempt at a joke, _or_ at sabotaging her efforts. Thankfully, Tonks just waved a hand at her and continued, “Oh, Harry’s just the same. Might as well be a Weasley … _without_ the pesky incest thing to get in the way, of course.”

 

Tonks had the nerve to punctuate her joke with a wink at Ginny, earning the full force of her evil eye. Everyone was _so_ funny today. The giggles from her companions weren’t helping her mood either. “I _don’t_ want to date Harry,” she denied fervently and in that moment, Ginny actually meant it. Mostly.

 

Adrianna gave her that annoying knowing look and Hermione suddenly found the table linen fascinating, but Tonks was already too pissed to catch on. Again, she waved her hand dismissively. “Fine, then. That boy of yours, the Thomas bloke, he’s the same as well. Jumped in front of a bloody _Crucio_ , didn’t he? Blasted heroes all of them. It’s the story of my Goddamned life and now it’s the story of yours, Gin, Of Heroes and Aresholes.”

 

Hermione choked on her watered down wine and Adrianna burst out laughing, prompting Tonks to turn to her and challenge, “What? Don’t tell me you don’t agree.”

 

“No. I do. I do. Trust me,” Adrianna insisted.

 

Tonks was getting off track. Ginny couldn’t allow that. “So, you were _saying_ …” she prompted.

 

“Yes. About being an Auror,” Hermione interjected eagerly, making Ginny frown. Since when was she so interested in being an Auror?

 

Well, the hell with that crap, Ginny wanted the _important_ information. “And about dating Bill,” she added.

 

Adrianna looked as if she were going to jump in and save her drunken friend, but Tonks began talking, gesturing her hands madly, so that Adrianna was distracted by saving the bottle of wine from the floor.

 

“It’s the same story really,” Tonks replied. Adrianna raised her eyebrows at that, but sat back and let Tonks speak. “I worked my arse off at Hogwarts, head of my class.” Out of the corner of her eye, Ginny saw Hermione straighten a bit in her chair, smiling eagerly. Ginny didn’t even bother to hide her eye-roll. “I got into the Auror program right away.”

 

Blah blah blah. So, she was a goody-two-shoes just like Hermione. What did that have to do with Bill?

 

“First day of Academy, the head of the department at the time, you remember him, Couch. He pulls me aside. ‘Not to worry,’ says he, ‘I’m fully aware that you’re here because you’re a Metamorphmagus. We wouldn’t put someone so _delicate_ into any really _dangerous_ situations.’”

 

Ginny couldn’t help but gasp in outrage right along side of Hermione. Tonks had to be exaggerating? There was arrogant male bullocks and there was _arrogant male bollocks_. This was _completely_ unacceptable.

 

Adrianna just nodded and looked down into her dark wine. “They’re all the same. Worldwide.”

 

Hermione was beyond indignant, bursting out, “That’s _disgraceful_! How _dare_ they?”

 

Ginny shook her head. It really was beyond ridiculous, that someone would say something like that to _Tonks_ , of all people. There wasn’t a delicate bone in her body. “You’re not even…” Ginny sputtered. “Delicate, my bum!”

 

But instead of agreeing, Tonks frowned a bit and sunk deeper into her chair, staring at the floor. Adrianna scoffed at her reaction. “You opened your big mouth, Dora. Do you really think you’re going to get away without telling them _that?_ Now?”

 

Shooting Adrianna an evil look, Tonks scowled. But finally, rolling her eyes, she muttered, “This isn’t _exactly_ my primary form.”

 

Ginny blinked at her. “What do you mean?”

 

“I _mean_ ,” Tonks grunted irritably, “that this isn’t the way I was born.” She gestured to her strong, muscled legs as she kicked them up onto the table.

 

“Well, obviously you weren’t born with pink hair,” Hermione stated, “but—”

 

“Try blond. Soft delicate, blond _curls_ ,” she spit out the last word with disgust, making Ginny giggle and Hermione frown, clearly taking offence. Tonks didn’t seem to notice, however. “Try barely 4’ 11’’ with a frame so tiny that people thought I was ten when I turned of age. That is, of course, except for the ridiculously unproportioned chest that made it look like I was about to tip over at any moment.”

 

Ginny was absolutely certain that her jaw was on the floor. Adrianna laughed at the description and Ginny turned to her, looking for confirmation. This _had_ to be a joke. Adrianna smiled a Cheshire cat grin over her wine glass, saying cheekily, “The image I get from Bill’s head is a bit more _complimentary_.”

 

Tonks growled at her. “Well, I’m sure you can imagine that Bill preferred me like _that_.” She threw Adrianna a warning look. “Don’t you _dare_ defend him.”

 

Adrianna threw up her hands in surrender. “Wasn’t gonna.” But Ginny was pretty sure she was lying. It was easy for her to defend the male species now that Charlie was in Romania and not driving her to the brink of madness on a daily basis.

 

Keeping a suspicious eye on her friend, Tonks continued, “You want to know what Mr. _Complimentary_ said when I came back from that first day of Auror Academy? My dear _loving_ boyfriend?” Ginny nodded eagerly. She sure as hell did.      “He said ‘Maybe it’s for the best.’ He said ‘You shouldn’t be doing something so _dangerous_ anyway.’” Sarcasm and bitterness dripped from every word.

 

“Prat,” Ginny spit out.

 

“Cheers to that, mate,” Tonks agreed, refilling Ginny’s glass, and this time _without_ the soda water. Adrianna started to protest, but Tonks cut her off, “Oh, shut it and have some more wine. You’re not drinking enough.” Adrianna bristled a tad, but drank like a good girl.

 

Hermione asked, her eyes bright, “So what did you do?”

 

“After my prick boyfriend and everyone else told me I couldn’t be a full-fledged Auror?” Tonks shrugged. “I left. I told the Auror program I needed a deferment and I went on an extended trip abroad. Bill didn’t like the idea of me going off alone, so I chucked him.”

 

Adrianna choked on her wine, giving her an incredulous look, “ _That’s_ how it happened?”

 

Tonks looked positively dangerous, as she bit out, “That’s _exactly_ how it happened. When I moved back, a few years later, Bill was in Egypt and I wasn’t so _delicate_. I entered the Auror Academy on _my_ terms.”

 

But Adrianna clearly knew another side of the story, a side Ginny doubted she would get to hear any time soon. Though, at the moment, she quite fancied Tonks’ version. Her admiration for the witch grew further when Tonks challenged, “So, you going to tell your Auror slash dating a Weasley story?”

 

“I wasn’t planning on it,” Adrianna replied simply.

 

Hermione sat forward with an earnest expression. “Please, tell us how you got to be an Auror. Were you the top of your class as well?” Why did Hermione always ask the boring questions?

 

“Hardly,” Adrianna scoffed. “I was above average, I guess, but nothing all that spectacular. It was hard to study while learning to control my … _gift_.”

 

Hermione looked confused. “But how—”

 

“Adrianna’s an _International_ Auror,” Tonks interrupted, her tone teasing, suggesting there was something hoity-toity about the distinction. “People don’t _apply_ to beInternational Aurors they get _invited_ for their _special_ talents.”

 

“It’s not that big a deal,” Adrianna said lightly and Tonks scoffed. “Please, as an Empath, I could have gone to any Auror Academy in the world with the worst grades in a century. _Everyone_ wants an Empath working for them.” For the first time today, Ginny saw the same bitterness in Adrianna’s eyes as she saw in Tonks’.

 

“And none of them had any intention of having me function as anything _other_ than an Empath,” Adrianna continued. “At least with International Academy I was insured they’d hold me to at least _some_ standards. But even then, I had to fight every step of the way to be taken seriously, to be a full field Auror.”

 

Hermione looked completely fascinated. “I thought an International Auror was just an Auror who worked abroad? Is it different—?”

 

Tonks laughed, saying, “A _bit._ International Aurors are a force unto themselves. They have their own organization, above and beyond any specific country’s Auror organization. And their jurisdiction is pretty much everywhere.”

 

Adrianna grimaced. “We don’t exactly work for _ourselves_. You make us sound like mercenaries. I have certain loyalties to the MIA and to the American Minister of Magic. Though, technically I work for the head of the International Aurors, who works along side each Ministry’s—”

 

This time Tonks laugh was even more disbelieving. “Along _side_? Carter, Scrimgeor, even Couch knew to defer to Valentine. Hell, even Fudge knows to defer to Valentine.” Adrianna just shrugged at that, but her smile said it was the truth.

 

Well, that cleared a lot of things up, like why Adrianna was acting as an Auror in Britain and why Carter had her name on his map. Wow, that meant Charlie was some … super Auror? That didn’t sound right. Ginny wondered what was so special about her brother that he would be invited—

 

“ _What_? Ginny!” Adrianna burst out, sitting up straight and piercing Ginny with the same scary look she had when she caught them with the watch. Shite. “What are you talking— _thinking_ about?”

 

Ginny shrunk back into her seat and tried to suppress her thoughts, but the more she tried to think about something else, the more incriminating her thoughts became. All her suspicions about Charlie flew through her head, starting from the moment they found the map in Carter’s office.

 

Adrianna’s eyes widened and her breath hissed. She turned to Hermione, demanding, “You know about this too, don’t you?” Hermione nodded guiltily and Ginny stiffened. How did she … _Harry_. That bloody prick. He didn’t know what a secret was.

 

Clenching her jaw, Adrianna looked around the room vigilantly. Seeing that they were indeed alone, she turned back to them, leaning forward and saying with the utmost seriousness, “You have to realize that what you know about Charlie could get him killed. I Surfaced years ago, people know what I do, but Charlie’s still Submerged. His work is _very_ dangerous and completely undercover. You can’t let _anyone_ find out.”

 

Ginny swallowed. Maybe it was because Adrianna actually seemed frightened for her brother’s safety, but Ginny felt unexpectedly ashamed of what they had discovered.

 

“We won’t,” Hermione assured.

 

Nodding solemnly, Ginny agreed. As if she’d do anything that would put her brother in danger. “So, that’s why he never told? He wasn’t allowed to?”

 

Sitting back, looking not even slightly tipsy, Adrianna nodded. “Only one family member is allowed to be told, for safety sake.”

 

“Bill?” Ginny asked and Adrianna nodded. Wow. It was so bizarre, Charlie being involved in such an elite group. He was always so … down to earth … normal. “What’s his special talent? Why was he invited?” she asked, wondering what the chances of Adrianna actually answering the question were.

 

But she did answer, in a tone that suggested it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Dragons.”

 

Ah. “So, he actually studies dragons, then?” Ginny asked. Good to know that, at least, was true. If Charlie didn’t love dragons, than she really had no idea who her brother was.

 

“Studies … _trains_.”

 

Ginny’s heart jumped. Trains? Hermione, however, snorted, saying in that superior tone of hers, “You can’t _train_ dragons.”

 

Adrianna gave Hermione an arrogant smile, saying with unmistakable pride, “Charlie can.”

 

Ginny digested this new information. Really, really wow. “So, he was your partner, then?”  

 

Adrianna nodded in response. A wicked smile came over Tonks’ face as she turned to her, “And I bet he was the most absurdly overprotective, domineering partner a girl could get.”

 

With a laugh, Adrianna conceded, “You could say that.”

 

Another opportunity. Ginny pounced. “And you’re _sure_ his being an overprotective, domineering, self-righteous prat had _nothing_ to do with why you two broke up? It had _nothing_ to do with Charlie thinking he knew better than you? Trying to make decisions for you?”

 

Adrianna opened her mouth to deny it, but then she paused, frowning as she thought. Then she said, “You know what? Yeah, I guess that did play a part. A rather _large_ part, actually.”

 

Tonks grinned and poured her more wine. This time, Adrianna didn’t protest, just clinked glasses with Tonks and downed it.

 

Before Ginny could take further advantage, Tonks turned to Hermione and asked, “So, what about you, Hermione? Is Ron’s overprotective, domineering, self-righteous hero shite what’s keeping you two from making it official?”

 

Oh well. Perhaps, Hermione’s stunned and frightened expression were worth the diversion, anyway.

  
  


* * * * *

  
  


Hermione had already begun to feel uncomfortable with the conversation. As curious as she was, she just didn’t think she could handle much more talk about the eldest Weasley’s disastrous love affairs. She far preferred to hear about being a female Auror. The relationship stuff hit far too close to home. Hermione already related to Adrianna and Charlie on a ridiculous level, but now Tonks and Bill …

 

As much as she liked Tonks, Hermione had never particularly related to her. And Ron seemed to have little in common with Bill, beyond height and hair color. But now … Tonks was the best student in her class. She had to fight to be taken seriously by the blokes around her. And Bill …

 

As much as Hermione didn’t want to believe that Ron would behave so badly when faced with her doing something dangerous, she knew that wasn’t realistic. Ron was overprotective as it was, but if they were actually in a relationship … wasn’t that why Hermione never told him she even considering becoming an Auror? That and his fragile ego?

 

“Come on, Hermione, answer the question,” Tonks teased. “You don’t get to be the only one that gets off free and clear. Spill it. Is that why you and Ron aren’t together?”

 

Hermione frowned. Should she deny fancying him like Ginny did with Harry? Hermione wouldn’t be able to get away with it anymore than Ginny had, maybe even less, but she really didn’t know how to answer the question. Could Ron be overprotective, domineering, and self-righteous? Yes. Was that why they weren’t together?

 

“No,” Hermione answered honestly. “We’re … if it’s anything it’s because Ron’s so thick,” she remarked dryly, making Ginny and Tonks chuckle merrily at Ron’s expense. But Hermione’s thoughts wondered to the strange, distant way Ron had been behaving over the last two days and before she could stop herself she muttered sullenly, “That or Ron just isn’t interested in me that way.”

 

“ _Please_ ,” Adrianna snorted. “Hardly. Maybe you should re-examine the overprotective, domineering, self-righteous, he thinks he knows better than you theory.”

 

Hermione froze, her eyes jerking to Adrianna and her heart skipping a beat. She _knew_ something. “What do you mean?” Hermione breathed, in a disturbingly desperate tone.

 

But Adrianna had already realized that she’d said too much and stiffened under the three pairs of inquisitive eyes. “Nothing,” she denied quickly, a look of guilt and panic on her face. Bill once said Adrianna had a habit of ‘slipping’ and giving away things about love and … soul mates. Hermione’s breath quickened. Should she press?

 

“Yeah, like we’re going to believe that.” Ginny exclaimed with a laugh. Clearly, _she_ had no problem pressing. “Let’s hear it!”

 

Adrianna shook her head. “I’ve already said too much.” She was beginning to take on a bit of a greenish tint.

 

“Oh come on, mate,” Tonks said brightly, clearly enjoying herself. “You’ve let the cat out of the bag. Tell the poor girl about her bloke’s pratness.”

 

Adrianna’s lips twitched, but, in the end, she only pressed them more tightly together. An evil smile appeared on Ginny’s lips and she said, “Well, we can figure out quite a bit from what Adrianna’s already said. So, Ron’s problem isn’t that he doesn’t fancy Hermione …” Ginny paused for effect and Adrianna squeezed her eyes closed. Triumphant, Ginny continued, smirking, “And that’s not because he’s thick—”

 

“I didn’t say that,” Adrianna protested quickly and Ginny smiled still wider. Sighing, Adrianna sat forward, taking back control of the situation. “Look, all I’m saying is that Ron, in his younger, more inexperienced way, has the same self-sacrificing heroic tendency of his brothers, plus … Well, let’s just leave it at that.”

 

Adrianna sat back, looking as if she’d given away a big secret and wasn’t about to say anymore. Only she hadn’t given away _anything_ and Hermione was more confused than ever. She looked over to Ginny, half-hoping she’d use her usual tenacity to wheedle more information out of Adrianna, but Ginny had grown despondent again.

 

“Bloody heroes,” the younger girl muttered under her breath. “I’ve had enough of them. Swearing them off, I am.”

 

Tonks nodded in agreement, but Adrianna shook her head again, saying grimly, “It’s too late. Once you’ve been in love with a hero, nothing less will ever be good enough.”

 

Hermione felt a horrible sinking feeling and turned to Tonks, hoping for a disavowal. Even though she couldn’t imagine not being in love with Ron, she needed … she didn’t know what she needed.

 

Only Tonks had taken on the same sullen look. “Bloody wankers,” she spat, “aren’t content with ruining your life. They have to ruin you for everyone else as well.”

 

Hermione felt herself being drawn into the dark mood around her. Not that it took much to depress her, not after the way the last few days had gone. They picked at their food in silence for a good fifteen minutes. Until Hermione was sure she would drive herself insane with her own frantic, neurotic thoughts.

 

What did Adrianna mean? How could overprotective, domineering, self-righteousness have anything to do with it? It made no sense. Was she implying Ron wanted to be with her … but he didn’t think it was in her best interest? That was ridiculous. And yes, he was overprotective but how was not dating her protecting her?

 

Adrianna must have meant something else. Maybe the self-sacrificing part was the key. She’d specifically added that. But still … _ugh_! Hermione needed to get her mind on something else.

 

She had a million questions about Voldemort and the watch. That’s what Hermione _should_ be concentrating on, not allowing herself to sink into a deep depression trying to figure out the outrageously illogical thoughts of one Ronald Weasley.

 

“It’s almost one. We should be going,” Adrianna announced, throwing down her napkin in what was almost a defeated gesture.

 

As the others stood, it occurred to Hermione that there was something she had been meaning to ask Adrianna since yesterday. “’Drana,” she called. “Can you heal? Empathetically, I mean?”

 

Adrianna froze, her face hardening, which was not the reaction Hermione had been anticipating. Tonks looked at Adrianna curiously, clearly confused by her response, and replied lightly, “Of course, she can. That’s one of the core Empath powers. It’s what she did to help Harry get over Sirius’ death, right?”

 

“What? What did you do to Harry?” Ginny gasped, suddenly protective of the boy she’d been cursing all day.

 

“Nothing,” Adrianna said firmly, speaking directly to Ginny. Then she turned to Tonks and said, “I didn’t do _anything_ to Harry.” With a deep sigh, she threw herself back into her chair.

 

So, this was going to be a long talk, then. Hermione had no idea the topic would be so controversial, feeling the sudden need to explain herself, she stammered, “I mean, I was just doing some research on Empathy and came across the Empath’s healing power. I wondered if … I got the feeling it related, somehow, to what Hilda did to Stephan and Anneliese.”

 

Ginny tensed, and looking serious for the first time in hours. “What about Hilda? What is she talking about?” she demanded as she sank back into her seat.

 

Tonks frowned and sat down as well, while Adrianna rubbed her forehead. Grunting, she finally explained, “Yes, I can heal. No, I don’t do it anymore. And yes, Empathetic healing is very much related to what Hilda did.”

 

Hermione shot a glance at Ginny, who was now tense and attentive, all signs of the snarky teenager gone. Tonks, however, scoffed, “Why wouldn’t you want to heal? Sounds like a bleeding brilliant power to me, to make all the pain go away.”

 

Adrianna leaned black in her chair and stared at the ceiling, frowning. “Sounds great, doesn’t it? Well, the thing is, it’s not so much healing as stealing. I take someone else’s bad feelings, then they’re mine. The next morning the person I ‘healed’ wakes up, remembers that so and so is still dead, or that their lives still suck and all the bad emotions start anew. They need to be healed all over again. Meanwhile, I’m still struggling with the feelings I took from them the day before.”

 

Hermione swallowed. It sounded horrible. “So, you gave it up, then?”

 

“Not without a whole lot of struggle and _persuading_ , mostly …” Adrianna took a deep shaky breath, hesitating, before she confessed, “Mostly from Charlie. He pleaded with me for over a year before I stopped. There’s a strong drive in the Empath to use this power. It’s difficult to fight. You feel … _selfish_ when you don’t use it. But the emotions you take, eventually they drive you insane. If I hadn’t given it up … Well, let’s just say that giving it up may be the sole reason why I’m still alive at the grand old age of twenty-eight.”

 

Ginny’s eyes drifted downward, shame clearly painted on her face. It was hard to curse her brother’s heroism when he may well have saved Adrianna’s life. It was just like Adrianna said, these men they were … addictive. Despite their bad qualities, sometimes, they were just too wonderful to bear.

 

Hermione’s mind churned through the new information, putting the pieces together. “So, what Hilda did was the opposite,” she thought out loud. “She stole the _good_ emotions.”

 

“That’s it exactly,” Adrianna agreed, breaking her dark mask with the small, proud smile of a teacher. It was a look that never failed to lift Hermione’s spirits.

 

“God, that’s _awful_ ,” Ginny breathed. Shivering a bit, she looked up at Adrianna. “Have you ever done _that_? What Hilda did?” Hermione’s eyes jerked to her friend. Why would she even ask such a thing? Of course, Adrianna hadn’t …

 

“A few times,” Adrianna replied evenly.

 

“ _Why_?” Hermione burst out, unable to keep the horror out of her voice.

 

But Adrianna didn’t seem to take offense. She just leaned back, and shrugged. “In battle, you use the weapons you have. You can bet that there are wizards that _strongly_ regret putting their hands on me.”

 

Something dark and terrible coiled in Hermione’s stomach. This was her future. What horrible things would she resort to in the heart of battle? “It must feel dreadful,” she breathed.

 

“Actually, it’s the most fantastic high,” Adrianna responded with a dry smile. “The rush of good feelings, the power. It’s … well, that’s why I only use it as a last resort. It could be addictive.”

 

“That’s why Hilda did it,” Ginny said softly, staring out into space. “That’s why she _kept_ doing it. That’s how she gained all her power.” Her eyes snapped back to Adrianna as she said something that chilled Hermione to the bone, “That’s why Voldemort wants _you_.”

 

“That’s why he wanted me as a child,” Adrianna corrected sternly. “If he thinks he can force me to do _that_ now, he’s an idiot.” Her jaw hardened in resolve and Hermione shuddered at thought of the horrible things Voldemort might do to get Adrianna’s cooperation.

 

The silence that followed was even more uncomfortable than the one before. Thankfully, Tonks broke it quickly, standing and placing a hand on Adrianna’s shoulder. “We should be going, ‘Drana.”

 

It was somber group that arrived at Ollivander’s wand shop, but the proprietor didn’t seem to notice. Once Tonks explained that there was a mysterious wand for him to identify he practically glowed with excitement. And when he saw it … he had eyes for no one and nothing else.

 

“May I,” he murmured, reaching for it without waiting for permission. If Mr. Ollivander had looked up, he would have seen that Adrianna was holding herself very still and handed the wand over with all the enthusiasm of a mother handing over her first-born child.

 

“Oh _my_ ,” Mr. Ollivander breathed with so much emotion it was practically a moan.

 

“Do you know what it’s made of?” Tonks asked, casually leaning against his cluttered counter.

 

“I’ve never seen anything like it.” His long thin fingers closed over the wand possessively. “I’d like to do some tests on it.”

 

Adrianna’s eyes flashed dangerously. “ _Entire Bacchetta_!” With a snap of her fingers the wand was back in her hand, leaving Mr. Ollivander looking bereft. Adrianna smiled with feigned politeness. “Maybe some other time. Come on, girls, we have to go. _Now_.”

 

She ushered them quickly from the store. As soon as they were out of hearing distance, Tonks whispered harshly, “Is Ollivander working with the Death Eaters?”

 

Adrianna’s lips pierced. “I don’t know. There was something … _untrustworthy_ about him.”

 

Lovely. More to worry about. Hermione fingers went instinctively to her own wand. An Ollivander wand. They _all_ had Ollivander wands.

 

Adrianna stopped abruptly, several meters down the street. “Let me see if the boys are where they’re supposed to be.” She closed her eyes. Concentrating, she turned in the direction of Flourish and Bolts. Seemed they were. Butterflies found their way into Hermione’s stomach at the thought of seeing Ron, which was ridiculous—

 

Adrianna’s eyes snapped open, fear clear on her face.

 

“What?” Tonks demanded.

 

“Harry. Aggression.” Adrianna took off in a dead run toward the bookstore. Hermione and Ginny started to run after her, but a lightning fast grip closed over their forearms.

 

“Hold up,” Tonks ordered, all business now. “Adrianna can take care of this. You two are with me.” And no amount of grumbling or complaining from either of the girls would make the Auror walk at anything faster than a brisk stroll or shake her hands from their firm grip.

 

Hermione was practically hyperventilating by the time they reached the store, horrible possibilities running through her mind. When they got to the entrance Tonks finally let go and Hermione darted away from her, frantic to find Harry and Ron. She was only steps inside the doorway when she ran blindly into a customer loaded down with books, landing in an undignified heap on the ground.

 

“Hermione?”

 

  


* * * * *


	41. Regrettable Decisions

 

Dumbledore once told Harry that love was the power that Voldemort knew not.  Well, he implied it anyway, implied that love would be Harry’s greatest weapon.  Harry thought he knew what that meant.  He thought love made a person happy and confident and whole.  That it made them powerful. Powerful enough to achieve anything.

 

But after this afternoon, Harry was seriously reconsidering his interpretation.  Now, after listening to Bill and watching Ron, Harry wondered if the real power love had was to completely destroy a man.  From what he’d seen, it could cause more misery than any magic in Voldemort’s arsenal.

 

And Harry _wasn’t_ being melodramatic.  Well, maybe a bit.  How could he _not_ with all the melodrama he’d been privy to lately?  The dark cloud that followed him just kept getting worse as the day progressed.  It was first time Harry stepped out of Grimmauld Place in a month and _this_ was the sort of day he had.  It figured.

 

Thank God all they had left to do was buy their schoolbooks and wait for the girls, who, by the way, were _quite_ a bit late.  Twoish, his arse.  What did _twoish_ even mean? 

 

Well, whatever.  Harry didn’t care.  He didn’t care about any of it.  He was glad the girls were late.  The less time he had to spend with Ginny, the better.  What’s more, he was _glad_ Ginny was dating Dean.  It would keep Harry from ever falling in love with her.  

 

 _That_ would be a disaster.

 

If he fell in love with her, not only would Harry be completely distracted his fight against Voldemort _and_ put Ginny at the top of Voldemort’s hit list, but it would very likely turn him into a miserable, bitter _wanker_.  Just like Bill and Charlie.  No, Harry would not fall in love with Ginny Weasley.  He would _not_.

 

Maybe there was still hope for Ron.  Harry looked over at him.  Ron was less than a meter away, throwing books into his basket with a mixture of anger and disgust.  Nope, too late for him as well.

 

A few minutes of sullenly leafing through his schoolbooks later, Ron sidled up and nudged Harry in the side, finally pulling him out of his miserable thoughts.  He followed his best friend’s gaze up to the balcony stacks where Draco Malfoy was milling about, Vincent Crabb just behind, dutifully holding his purchases.

 

Absolutely fantastic.  Just when Harry thought this day couldn’t get any worse.  His lip curling, he muttered, “Bloody hell,” and turned away from the sight.  The last thing he needed was to deal with Malfoy’s shite.

 

But Ron caught his arm and held him in place.  Ron had a strange light in his eyes and looked a lot more like … _himself_ than he had all day. 

 

“Harry,” he whispered, “that fight we had, it kind of felt good, yeah?  I mean, the hitting part.”  Was this a trick question?  Frowning, Harry nodded carefully.  A wicked smile spread across Ron’s face and he asked in a hushed tone, “Don’t you think it would feel better if we were, say, on the same side?”

 

Understanding dawned and a grin that Harry was sure mirrored Ron’s crept over his face.  It did sound brilliant … but it was wrong.  “We can’t just start a fight,” Harry muttered, disappointment heavy in his voice. 

 

Though, it _would_ be a great way to bond with Ron again, get both of their minds off of everything.  Oh, and he’d get to shove his fist into Malfoy’s face.  That wouldn’t be bad either.

 

“Since when do we have to _start_ something with Malfoy?” Ron argued quietly.  “We’ll just put ourselves in his path and see what happens.  We’re not in school.  We can’t lose house points or get expelled or anything.”

 

And Harry already had _detention_ for the rest of the summer.  What more trouble could he get in?  “Well, the Quidditch section _is_ up there,” he reasoned.

 

Ron smiled conspiratorially.  “We wouldn’t be looking for a fight, just the latest _Broomstick Illustrated._ ”

 

Harry grinned back and without a further word between them, they carefully laid down their purchases and with a watchful eye on Remus and Bill, who were busy gathering their school supplies, Harry and Ron slipped up the balcony stairs.

 

It didn’t take more than two minutes of mock searching through the Quidditch magazines before they heard that familiar sneer behind them.  “Well, if it isn’t Potter and Weasley,” Malfoy said, spitting out their names as if they were insults. 

 

Ron and Harry shared small, knowing grins before turning to face their opponents.  Malfoy was smirking at them, prattling on just as they’d hoped he would. “They let you out, eh?  I heard the lot of you were cowering in some cave somewhere.  Not that I blame you, what with what the Dark Lord is going to do to you.”

 

“Is that the rumor in Death Eater circles, Malfoy?” Ron jeered, making a show of crossing his arms and frowning.  “Has your _Lord_ let you in the ranks yet or are you still too young?  Is there a _baby_ Death Eater club?”

 

Not even trying to hide his smile, Harry joined in, “I don’t think Voldemort wants Malfoy here.  Not with the way Daddy fucked up and landed himself in prison.” 

 

Harry relished the way the Slytherin’s face turned red with anger and his thin hands clenched.  It was too easy really.  “He’ll be out soon enough,” Malfoy stated with a calm that rang false.  “Then we’ll see what happens to what little family _you_ two have left.”

 

That was all the excuse Ron needed, he pounced.  Harry took a quick step to block Crabb’s path, letting his friend have the more desirable target.  It _was_ Ron’s idea after all.  And besides, Crabb would be more of a challenge than Malfoy.  At least he was  large.  What were the chances that the delicate little ferret had spent the summer learning hand-to-hand combat as they had? 

 

Harry waited for the satisfying crack of Ron’s fist connecting with Malfoy’s face, but instead he heard Ron grunt, “What the—?”

 

Harry’s eyes whipped over to find Remus had caught Ron by the back of his shirt.  Shite. 

 

“Problem here, Ron?” his professor inquired with a light, jovial tone.

 

“Only problem is _Potter_ here can’t control his pet weasel,” Malfoy mocked, grinning widely.

 

With that, Harry’s chest clenched with familiar rage and he grabbed for his wand.  It was less satisfying than his fist, but he could get a hex out before Remus—

 

“Harry Potter, don’t you even _think_ about it!”

 

Adrianna.  Goddamn it.  _Now_ she showed up.  Harry was cursed.  There was nothing else to say about it.

 

Harry immediately dropped his wand, causing Malfoy to laugh uproariously.  “Taking orders from a woman, are we?  Well, you always enjoyed that.  First the Mudblood—”

 

“Shut your mouth, Malfoy!” Ron yelled, struggling against Remus’ grip.

 

Then Adrianna appeared at the top of the stairs and the look in her eyes was a bit more concerning than Malfoy.  “ _This_ is the cause of the aggression I felt down the street,” she bit out, gesturing toward Malfoy with a flick of her wrist.  “I get here expecting a horde of Death Eaters and I find one nasty little boy.”

 

Draco and Crabb growled in unison, each taking a menacing step toward her, to which she merely rolled her eyes condescendingly  and twirled her wand casually between her fingers.  “Sorry, _two_ nasty little boys.”  Then, looking at Harry, Adrianna asked,

 

“Malfoy?”  Harry grunted in affirmative, stifling a smile.  Maybe being interrupted by her wouldn’t be so bad after all.

 

Malfoy drew himself up straighter.  “Well, now that you’ve been rescued by the werewolf and this—”

 

“Eh, eh,” Adrianna reprimanded sweetly.  “That’s Professor Werewolf to you, young man.”

 

“Not, anymore,” Draco sneered and Harry stifled a laugh.  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ron relax in Remus’ grip.

 

Remus smiled and shared a glance with Adrianna, saying, “Well, as a matter of fact …”

 

When comprehension dawned, Malfoy turned positively green.  “Oh, wait until I tell—”

 

“Who?” Harry taunted, feeling the best he’d felt all day.  “Do you have someone to tell?  Someone who _isn’t_ in prison?”

 

“I wouldn’t worry, Harry,” Adrianna remarked casually.  “I’m sure he doesn’t know anyone more _persuasive_ than I am.”

 

Harry felt a surge of pride and triumph.  He took great pleasure in saying, “Looks as if you aren’t the one with the powerful relative anymore, Malfoy.”

 

There was a satisfying moment of silence while Crabb and Malfoy’s wide eyes took in Adrianna’s clear resemblance to Harry.  Too soon Malfoy recovered, his lip curling in disgust.  “Where did you find a relative, Potter?  A bastard, perhaps—”

 

Adrianna stepped into both Ron and Harry’s paths before they could attack.  “I suggest you two boys run along home now.” When they didn’t move, she rolled her eyes, sighing in frustration.  “ _Or_ I could step aside and let them beat you to pulp.  You put on a good act, but you’re clearly afraid of them.”

 

Harry smiled with pure pleasure as Malfoy stammered, “That’s absurd—”

 

“Oh, didn’t you know?” Harry asked in what was perhaps the most satisfying moment of his life.  “My cousin here is an Empath.  She knows _exactly_ what you’re feeling.”

Malfoy allowed himself only a second of visible fear before putting on a show of rolling his eyes and sneering in disgust.  He skirted around Adrianna as if she were dirty (which she seemed to find amusing), muttering as he passed, “We’ll finish this at Hogwarts, Potty.  You won’t have your watch _dog_ there.”

 

Ron growled, lurching forward.  “Oh, yeah—”

 

But Remus stilled him with a hand on his shoulder, undoubtedly keeping Ron from telling Malfoy about Adrianna’s position.  “Let’s leave that little surprise for September, shall we?” he whispered and Ron relaxed, a familiar lopsided smile on his face.

 

For his part, Harry was beaming.  That is until he turned and faced his cousin’s disapproving gaze.  She stared at him without a word, until he was quite uncomfortable. 

 

When Harry was good and afraid of what she was going to say, Adrianna snapped, “You have _five_ minutes.”  Then she turned sharply and stomped down the stairs, leaving a chuckling Remus to follow.

 

Once she was out of sight, Harry found himself grinning again.  That was  bloody _brilliant_.  He turned to share the sentiment with Ron only to find him staring off the banister, his face white, all amusement gone. 

 

“Something wrong, mate?” Harry asked.

 

Ron wrapped his hands over the banister and clenched them until his knuckles turned white.  “Seamus Finnigan and … _Hermione_.”

 

Harry’s brow furrowed in confusion as he stepped forward and looked over the edge of the banister.  Seamus was standing there with two other Gryffindors he knew.  His dorm mate reached down to help Hermione, who seemed to have fallen, off the floor.  That was … strange.  But Harry was sure it was completely innocent. 

 

He turned to tell Ron as much and caught sight of the look on his face.  He clearly didn’t share Harry’s opinion.  _Shite_.  This was just what they needed.

 

 

 

* * * * *

 

 

           

For Ron, watching Malfoy humiliated by Adrianna and Harry was _almost_ as good as shoving his fist into the little ferret’s face.  And although it didn’t come with the satisfying image of Malfoy’s nose broken and bleeding, this way certainly had fewer repercussions.

 

Smiling as Malfoy flounced away, Ron turned to … Where was Hermione?  If Adrianna was here that meant Ginny and Hermione should be in the store as well. 

 

Immediately, his eyes searched the room.  Ron stepped up to the balcony to get a better view and was just in time to see his clumsy oaf of a roommate run into his Hermione, and knock her flat on her arse.  Ron frowned, a growl rising in his throat.  He’d better get down there and defend her.  Finnigan and his tosser friends would probably just laugh at her …

 

But they didn’t laugh and before Ron could move he caught sight of Seamus crouching down in front of Hermione and … they were too far away for Ron to make out their words, but Seamus was clearly smiling at her. 

 

It wasn’t a cheeky, teasing smile, either.  No, it was … holy fucking shite, was he _flirting_ with her?  That was _definitely_ Seamus’ flirting face!  The Irishman was anything but subtle and Ron had certainly seen his clumsy attempts often enough.

 

To add insult to injury, the two slimy blokes with him, members of Ron’s own house, bloody Gryffindor traitors, were standing behind Seamus, grinning at Hermione and staring at her _chest_.  That was _his_ chest.  Who did they think they were, staring at it like that?

 

And since when did anyone in Gryffindor stare at Hermione’s chest?  Only Ron did that!  And since when did _Seamus_ fancy Hermione?  Since when was he even civil to her? 

 

Then Ron remembered.  Their welcome-back-from-the-hospital-wing party, after the Department of Mysteries.  Adrianna had told his secret.  She had told these very same blokes what only Ron and Harry had understood, that there was a whole lot more to Hermione than a prissy little bookworm.

 

Then there was that morning.  That morning when Hermione had come to Ron’s dormitory in her nightgown and Seamus was looking at her in  … in the way he was looking at her now.  Revolting is what that was.

 

Ron’s jaw clenched until he thought his teeth would crack.  His hands were numb from clutching the banister so hard.  Hermione wouldn’t … she wouldn’t actually fancy _dating_ any of those blokes?  Would she?

 

Vaguely, Ron heard Harry ask, “Something wrong, mate?”

 

Taking a deep hissing breath, Ron managed to grit out, “Seamus Finnigan and …

 _Hermione_.”  Just the two of them in the same sentence … Oh God, what if, when Ron and Hermione were Practicing she was actually … well, _Practicing_.  As in Practicing what she was going to do with another bloke.

 

“I’m an idiot,” Ron breathed, a new anger taking him over, a panicky, terrified, mind-scrambling anger.

 

“ _No_ ,” Harry denied forcefully, ever loyal, but it did nothing to still the bile rising in Ron’s throat.  “That’s nothing.  Seamus—”

 

When would Harry see the truth about him?  “No, I _am_ ,” Ron insisted, his voice oddly monotone.  “All this time we’ve been Practicing, I never thought … it never occurred to me to ask, who the hell was she Practicing for?”

 

Then, as if to prove Ron’s point, Seamus reached out and took Hermione’s hand.  Ron almost choked on his own tongue.  Why wasn’t Hermione pulling away?  She could get up herself!  She was quite capable of _standing_ on her own!  Since when did she allow anyone, let alone _Finnigan_ , to fuss over her?

 

Then Seamus didn’t let go of her hand.  They were standing and Hermione certainly didn’t need anymore help and Seamus was grinning like a fool and he _wasn’t_ letting go of her hand!  Did Hermione just laugh?  And was that a _blush_?  Ron watched in horror as the bloody Irishman reached out and touched her hair. 

 

He ran to the stairs.  Ron only had one clear thought through the rage and jealousy eating away at his insides.  If he wasn’t good enough for Hermione, than Seamus Finnegan wasn’t fit to lick her boots, let alone _touch_ her.

 

“Ron,” Harry called behind him, but he barely heard and didn’t care regardless.

 

When Ron finally reached the disgusting spectacle, Seamus _still_ had Hermione’s hand in his slimy mitt.  She was looking at him with a slightly suspicious and bemused expression, but she didn’t look particularly upset.  And she _didn’t_ pull away.  _Goddamn_ her.

 

“Oh.  Ron,” Hermione gasped, clearly surprised to see him.  In the bookstore.  Where he was supposed to be.  Maybe she was less surprised than guilty.  “Is everything—”

 

He ignored her, barking out, “Seamus.”  Ron hoped that alone would be intimidating enough to get the bastard to let go of her.  Drawing himself up to his full height, he towered over Hermione and her new … _suitor_ , standing, purposefully, and what he hoped was uncomfortably close.

 

But Seamus barely spared Ron a glance before going back to staring at Hermione with a disgustingly wolfish-lovesick expression.  “Oh hey, Ron,” Seamus said, without looking at him.  “I was just saying how brilliant Hermione’s hair looks.  Don’t you reckon she looks fantastic?”

 

There was a chorus of pathetic compliments from his poncy friends and still Hermione didn’t let go, just looked them over and smiled as if she’d never been given a compliment in her life, as if Ron didn’t tell her she was beautiful on a daily basis.  Drop his hand, Hermione.  Drop it, Goddamn it.

 

Then Hermione turned to Ron with a questioning look, as though she were waiting to see what he would do.  What did she _want_ him to do?  Did she want him to accept this _bullocks_?  Just as he was realizing how deep his feelings for her went?  Now, he really understood what Bill meant.  Love was acid and fire and it destroyed a man, from the inside.

 

 “Yeah, brilliant,” Ron snapped and, unable to stand it one more minute, he reached over and snatched Hermione’s hand out of Seamus’ grip.

 

“Ron!” Hermione squealed, her mouth falling open.  Upset that he interrupted her flirting, was she?  Ron dropped her hand as if it burned.  It did, actually.

 

“Um, Ron, Hermione, maybe we should …” Harry stammered anxiously, from behind him.  Ron hadn’t even noticed that he was there. 

 

Ron and Hermione continued to ignore him, their eyes held in a bizarre staring war.  Ron could feel the tension rise around him and see the cowards who had been ogling Hermione step back.  They were expecting a row, but he didn’t know if he had it in him.  He needed ... please ... _Hermione_ …

 

Then instead of railing at him, Hermione licked her lips and gave Ron a small, reassuring smile and said, “We _should_ be going.  We’ll see you at school, Seamus.”  She didn’t even look at the Irishman and suddenly Ron could breathe again.

 

Seamus cleared him throat.  “Yeah, sure.  We better go as well.  See you at school, Potter.  Weasley … _Hermione_.”

 

She turned and gave Seamus a smile when he said her name in that oh-so-sweettone.  It was sickening.  Ron sneered as he left, muttering, “I’ll bet,” under his breath.

 

Then Hermione turned wide, questioning eyes to Ron.  What was she thinking?  What did she want?  What would she do if she knew he was in love with her … _probably_ in love with her?  Would she date him out of pity?  Out of just wanting any old boyfriend?  Did he care why she dated him?  Yeah.  Yeah, he did.

 

“We have your schoolbooks.  Let’s go,” Bill called as he came over to them, Adrianna just behind.

 

 Hermione’s face fell.  “But what happened?  The aggression Adrianna felt in the Alley … what was it?   Is everything—”

 

“Everything’s fine, now,” Adrianna reassured.

 

“Oh,” Hermione said softly, clearly confused.  “Then, do we have to leave _now_?  I just got here.  I didn’t even have time to look.  Can I just—”

 

“No,” Ron burst out.  “We _have_ to go.”  They really _did_ have to go.  He was going to have a nervous breakdown if they spent one more minute in Diagon Alley.  He needed to get Hermione far away from the shag-hungry fiends populating this place.

 

“You can look.  Just hurry,”

 

Goddamn Adrianna.  This was all her fault.  She was the one who had to tell Seamus and the rest of those pricks about Hermione’s … _passion_.  Those idiots would never have riddled it out on their own.  Then she had to go and get Hermione a new haircut and those damn bras that made her breasts look all perky and hypnotizing. 

 

Ron liked the way she looked before.  _He_ was the only one who knew how pretty she was then.  Why did Adrianna have to come along and make it all  _obvious_?

 

“You know what?” Hermione said softly, still looking up at Ron.  “It’s all right.  We can go home.”  She smiled a bit and touched him on the arm. 

 

 All his breath left him and he smiled back.  Thank God.  Thank God.  They were leaving and then … and then Ron had one week.  One week before they were surrounded by Malfoys and Seamuses and randy seventh-year blokes.  How long would it take before he lost Hermione for good?

 

 

 

* * * * *

 

 

           

In the years since Harry began school at Hogwarts, he’d had some pretty wretched summer holidays.  There’d been Dursleys and dementors, rebel house-elves and Wizengamot trials.  He’d almost been expelled more than once and came close to being _killed_ more times than that.

 

But none of his previous summers were quite as torturous as the week he spent stuck in a musty old library, night after night, with a beautiful girl, who just happened to have decided that Harry was the devil incarnate.

 

The highlight of the week had been the one night Adrianna replaced the infuriated Ginny with a brooding Ron.  Punishment for their “over-use of fists to resolve a conflict,” she’d said.

 

Whether the impetus was the almost Malfoy brawl or the incident in the attic, no one really knew.  Though, Harry strongly suspected it was both.  He _had_ received some rather frightening warnings about what Adrianna might do to them if that sort of “behavior” continued once they returned to school.

_School_.  They were going back tomorrow.  It was relief, really.  Except … would he and Ginny talk at all once they were back at Hogwarts?  Would they go back to casual greetings in the hallways, pretending they were mere acquaintances?  Or would she continue to ignore him, treating Harry as if he were worse than dirt beneath her feet? 

 

Both options made him sick.  Either way, after seeing Ginny on an hourly basis for a month, Harry would barely see her at all.  Which was good, of course.  Being around her lately was a lot like hanging around Malfoy, only without the witty conversation. 

 

But perhaps Harry enjoyed being tortured, because, for some contrary reason, the idea of not spending time with Ginny every day, even if it was in stony silence, left a ridiculous ache in the pit of his stomach.  He really was a masochist, no two ways about it.

 

It _was_ likely that they would be in Quidditch together.  Ginny would _have_ to talk to him. 

 

But the season didn’t really start until late October, though practice started earlier.  It could cause a problem if she hadn’t forgiven him by the first game. 

 

Not that Harry had done anything to be forgiven for.  Well, he _had_ , but it wasn’t his actual transgressions that had Ginny in a snit.  No, it was her own barmy nonsense.  At least he reckoned so.  She’d never made it perfectly clear.  All she ever did anymore was glower and snap at him. 

 

As far as he could figure, Ginny was angry that Harry hadn’t tried to cover up the watch thing, that he _hadn’t_ lied to Adrianna, which was beyond daft.  Didn’t Ginny remember she was an _Empath_?  And she must have forgotten that they had _agreed_ to tell Adrianna just the night before.

 

Oh, but there was also Harry’s awful sin of keeping Ginny from going into Knockturn Alley (where rapists lurked around _every_ corner) to see the scary evil jeweler.  What a _horrible_ person Harry was for trying to keep her from _that_. 

 

But, in actuality, all Harry had was speculation.  Who knew what mental thing Ginny was _really_ fuming about?  Only one thing was clear, Harry’s friendship couldn’t mean that much to her.  If it did, she wouldn’t be so damn stubborn.  She probably didn’t care one little bit whether they spoke once they went back to school.  Why should she?  She had _Dean Thomas_.

 

The name tasted bitter and rotten in Harry’s mouth.  Maybe Ginny’d hang around the sixth-years all the time because of that stupid prat.  Would Harry be forced to watch them making eyes at each other every damn day?  Would she snog him in Harry’s dorm? 

 

Would she stay the night?  Harry would kill the bloody wanker, he swore to God he would.

 

Of course, that wouldn’t be necessary.  If Harry had been thinking logically, he would have remembered that he shared a dorm with Ginny’s very protective older brother and not even Thomas was _that_ stupid.  Thank God for small blessings.

 

Harry was going to stop thinking about Ginny now.  He was going to go back to concentrating on the incredibly tedious task of decontaminating these ruddy books. 

 

Sprinkle the blue powder.  Mutter the spell, quickly followed by the green powder.  Wait five minutes …

 

It should be a good school year, though.  All things considered.  He probably wouldn’t even _think_ about Ginny once he returned.  Harry just needed to concentrate on the positive things.  Adrianna and Remus would be there and no Umbridge.  There would be

Quidditch and Hagrid and going outside, in the _actual_ fresh air.

 

Harry would be fine.  He just needed to concentrate on the important things, his studies, preparing to battle Voldemort and …

 

Would Ginny and _Dean_ date the _entire_ year?  They really weren’t at all that well matched.  Ginny was really far too … _fiery_ for Dean.  She’d run right over him and probably get bored relatively quickly.  Now that Harry was thinking about it, he really couldn’t imagine that they would last more than a few weeks and once they broke up …

 

Involuntarily, Harry’s eyes were drawn to the angry redhead working on the other side of the library.  It was stuffy in the room and Ginny was wearing old cutoff shorts that were far too short for his sanity.  Her tight t-shirt was even worse. 

 

Hair escaped her haphazard ponytail, fluttering around her face as Ginny slammed the books she was working with against any available surface.  Anger brightened her cheeks and made her freckles more obvious.  It probably shouldn’t have made her more attractive.  God help him.

 

Ginny was particularly irritated tonight.  She didn’t feel it was fair that their punishment extend to the last day of summer holiday and had been quite vocal arguing this point with Adrianna.  But Harry’s cousin hadn’t budged, just muttered something he only vaguely caught about it being good for them to spend time together. 

 

Harry had no idea what she meant.  How could _this_ be good for anyone?  Maybe he’d misheard her?  Maybe this _was_ the punishment … spending time together ... _or_ , it could have meant that Adrianna thought Harry and Ginny belonged together.  Maybe when Ginny and Dean broke up he could …

 

He could nothing.  Absolutely _nothing_.  Hadn’t Harry decided that it was far too dangerous for Ginny to be his girlfriend?  And hadn’t he made a vow that he was absolutely, under no circumstances going to fall in love with her? 

 

And that’s what would happen if they got together.  He’d fall in love with her and turn into another Bill or Charlie or _Ron_ , angry, bitter, and brooding.  Harry had enough to brood about as it was.

 

So, Harry was _definitely_ going to stop having fantasies about Ginny ditching Dean in front of the whole school and then snogging Harry in the Great Hall … or the Quidditch pitch … or the common room … or alone in his dorm room … What would it be like to be Imperturbed inside a four-poster bed with Ginny the way Ron and Hermione—?

“Complete bullocks,” Ginny muttered under her breath.  “Last day of summer holiday and we’re doing _this_ crap.”

 

Harry froze.  This was the first time Ginny spoke in almost two hours.  Silence, it seemed, was Ginny’s favorite punishment.  Who’d have known such a thing would be so affective?  Now that they had the decontaminating process down, there was no need to confer.  So, the only sounds that filled the old library were the crackles of spells and the low murmuring of charms.

 

But Ginny actually _spoke_.  Was it to him or to herself?  What should Harry do?  Should he saying something back?  What should he say? 

 

Ginny turned suddenly, throwing a centuries old book on the floor with a loud thud and announcing, “I’ve had enough.  I’m not doing this anymore!”

 

“What do you mean?” Harry asked carefully, then waited, tense and still, for her response.  He, Harry Potter, who would gladly face Voldemort himself at that very moment just to get it over with, was terrified of the response of a petite redhead to a four word question.  Pathetic.

 

“I _mean_ ,” Ginny stated with a rebellious toss of her hair as her hands found their way to her hips, “that I am not spending one more minute of my last night of holiday decontaminating books that no one is even going to be here to read!”

 

There was something alarming about the light in her eyes and Harry swallowed.  Ginny seemed to have something more in mind then giving up and going to bed early. 

 

Stamping over to the stakes of finished books, she began rifling through them like a mad

woman. 

 

“Ginny?” Harry asked cautiously.  She didn’t answer.  He was about to ask again when she suddenly produced a large bottle of wine. 

 

Harry could only gape at her, which just made Ginny smirk and declare boldly, “The one enjoyable night I had this entire summer was spent piss drunk and that’s exactly how I intend on spending my _last_ night of holiday as well.”

 

At first, Harry was affronted.  Ginny had spent a good portion of her holiday with him and up until two weeks ago, Harry had thought they were having a rather brilliant time of it.  Then he remembered the night she was referring to, Ginny’s birthday party, perhaps the best night of his young life, hangover or not. 

 

Harry spent that entire night with Ginny.  Is that why she liked it as well?  Because they’d had such a grand time _together_?  Suddenly, sitting around getting pissed with

 

Ginny Weasley was the only way Harry could imagine spending his last night of summer

holidays.  Now, how to get the irate redhead to share?

 

“Where’d you get that?” Harry asked carefully, testing the water. 

 

Ginny shrugged, coming to sit cross-legged in front of an old sofa and placing the bottle between her legs.  “The pantry.”

 

Harry felt a prickle of unease and asked, “Don’t you think your mum will notice?”

 

“You’re not the only one who learned how to duplicate,” Ginny shot back in a snarky tone.

 

Great, now she was hacked off again.  What was he thinking _again_?  Ginny hadn’t actually stopped, had she?  Harry might as well cut his loses and just ask her before he made matters even worse.  “Are you going to share?”

 

Ginny ripped off the gold label on the top of the bottle violently, then looked up at Harry with a rather nasty expression.  “Why would I do that?”

 

Why, indeed?  “Because I’ll tell Adrianna?” Harry attempted, but Ginny only paused in her attempts to open the bottle to give him a skeptical expression, calling his bluff and leaving him deflated.

 

Then Ginny tried to grab the cork and Harry smiled.  “How about because I know how to uncork that bottle.  It doesn’t twist off, you know.”

 

She froze, slowly tipping her head up to scowl at him.  But after a moment, Ginny finally rolled her eyes and, with an annoyed grunt, handed the bottle over.  Harry suppressed a triumphant smirk and he sunk to the floor next to her, already feeling a bit dizzy and he hadn’t drunk a drop.  It wasn’t a good sign.  Or maybe it was.  Who knew?

 

Harry pulled out his wand.  “ _Alohomora_.”

 

Ginny gaped at him as the simple spell sent the top of the bottle flying off.  “Cheater,” she accused.

 

Harry couldn’t help but smile.  “Just because you didn’t think of it first …” Not that he thought of it either.  He overheard Bill using the spell the night of the party.

 

Rolling her eyes again, Ginny crossed her arms over her chest.  “You’d better duplicate it,” she declared.  “I plan on finishing an _entire_ bottle myself.”

 

Harry’s eyes widened.  Ginny _was_ in rare form tonight.  “You know, Adrianna told me that the alcohol content goes up each time you duplicate it,” he warned.

 

Ginny snatched the bottle out of his hand.  “Good!”  Pulling out her wand, she said clearly, “ _Duplisis_.”  Then, holding two bottles, she shoved one at Harry without bothering to even look at him and took an impressively long swig.  When she finally lowered the bottle she blinked rapidly and wiped her lips with the back of her hand.

 

She was so cute.  Harry was having a hard time keeping himself from grinning like a love-sick fool, so he hid his expression by bringing the bottle to his lips. 

 

The wine didn’t taste all that great, but it went down a lot easier than Firewhiskey.  The trade off was that the fuzziness didn’t come on nearly as quickly.  Neither did the euphoria.  But maybe that particular effect was from the flame fruit.  God, Harry wished they had some of _that_.

 

What was he thinking?  Ginny was someone else’s girlfriend and even if her boyfriend was a wanker, (and how could he not be?  He was Ginny’s _boyfriend_ ) it wasn’t right to do _that_ with another bloke’s girl.

 

No, Harry had lost his chance.  It had slammed shut right in his face.  And all because he’d been too much of an idiot, too much of a bloody ponce to take advantage of the opportunity when it was in front of him. 

 

Late at night, when Harry was trying not to stare at the Imperturbable around Ron’s bed, Ginny’s birthday party haunted him.  Even though he knew it was for the best that he and Ginny stayed friends, or more accurately, two people who barely tolerated the other’s presence, Harry spent his nights obsessively sussing out at least a dozen instances when he _should_ have kissed her.

 

Ok, maybe not “should.”  “ _Could_ ” was more like it.  A dozen instances where Harry _could_ have kissed her.  In his fantasies, he explored dozens of different scenarios. 

 

Sometimes, she slapped him and still went off with Dean.  But usually, Harry and Ginny wound up snogging on the kitchen floor all night and … and there was no Dean.

 

God, he was an arsehole for even thinking it, a stupid selfish arsehole.  But Harry never regretted anything like he regretted _not_ kissing Ginny that night.  He took another long swig.

 

The funny thing that Harry soon learned about wine was that the more one drank, the better it tasted.  Before long, it was going down like pumpkin juice, rather tart, heady pumpkin juice.  His mind was finally getting numb, but instead of the giddy happiness he had felt at the party he only seemed to get more morose as he drank. 

 

Though, he did seem to be enjoying his moroseness more than usual.  Was that a word, “moroseness”?  He kind of liked the sound of it.  It should be … Ginny smelled nice. 

 

Sweaty, but nice, with just the faintest scent of peaches.  Harry liked her legs.  They were smooth and freckly.  He wanted to touch them.

 

But, _no_.  Harry wasn’t allowed to touch.  He couldn’t even talk to her, why would he think he was allowed to _touch_ her?  But why couldn’t he talk to her?  Who said?  He could talk to her if he bloody well wanted to.  He was allowed.

 

“Ginny,” Harry called, defiant.  See there.  He talked to her.  She grunted in response, seemingly waiting for him to say something more.  Did he have something else to say?  He’d forgotten.  Shite.  Now, he actually had to say something.  “This tastes better than Firewhiskey.”

 

“Mmm,” Ginny mumbled and Harry wondered if she was agreeing or just trying to shut him up.  Then she continued, “I miss the flame fruit, though.”

 

“Yeah,” Harry managed as he became distracted by a flash of warmth that made his heart speed up and his cheeks turn pink.  God, how he’d love to have Ginny’s skin under his lips again, flame fruit or not.  Did she want that as well?  Would she still use flame fruit with him even though she had a tosser boyfriend?

 

Clearing his throat, Harry somehow found the courage to say, “The _whole_ summer wasn’t wretched.  I thought it was pretty good until Dolohov showed up.” 

 

That was when it all started to go to shite.  First Dolohov, then the attacks, then Ginny saw Dean and the watch situation turned evil or something.  It was all over after that. 

 

Harry took another long drink of wine.

 

“Well, _I_ didn’t spend the first half of the summer holidays gallivanting all over the world,” Ginny drawled, her voice heavy with sarcasm.  Harry should’ve kept his mouth shut.  “But, I suppose the first few weeks here weren’t _so_ bad.”

 

Harry’s eyes snapped to hers.  Was that a concession?  An invitation?  Was she softening?  Warmth filled his stomach, but that must have been because of the wine. 

 

Even so, Harry grinned at her.  This was going well.

 

“Yeah, we had a good time,” Ginny continued.  “That was until _you_ decided to pull that overprotective hero shite and started treating me like a child.”

 

That’s what Harry got for getting cocky.  And what the _hell_ was she talking about? 

 

Complete bullocks, was what.  “I never treated you like a child!” he barked back, a bit too loudly.  If _anything_ was the problem, it was how much he did _not_ think of her as a child.  His eyes were automatically drawn to her chest and he had to wrench them away.

 

Luckily, Ginny stubbornly refused to look at him and missed his lustful gaze.  Instead, she muttered, “Please,” and crossed her arms as she stared across the room and pouted.

 

Harry took it back.  At that moment, Ginny was very much acting the part of a child.  He could feel his ire rising.  He’d spent the last week feeling guilty, but maybe he wasn’t the problem at all.  Maybe it was her.  He took another drink.  Yes, the problem was _definitely_ her.  Her and bloody _Dean_ Thomas.

 

Sullenly, Ginny said in a mocking voice, her words slurred, “Baby Ginny is too _delicate_ to go into Knockturn Alley. Silly Baby Ginny was taken over by the big bad watch and now we need to protect her from—”

 

“Oh shut it, Ginny,” Harry snapped, unable to take it anymore.  “That’s not what happened.  Those things were bloody dangerous and you know it.  It had nothing to do with me or anyone else thinking you’re too young.”

 

Her eyes flashed with rage.  Struggling to her knees, Ginny faced him, her chest heaving with … No, no problem with Harry thinking she was a baby.  Were fifteen-year-olds _supposed_ to have chests like that?

 

Ginny began with a full out yell, “Exactly what—”

 

No!  It was his turn to be hacked off.  “So, that’s it, is it?”  Harry demanded angrily, cutting her off.  She wasn’t taking control of this argument again.  “ _That’s_ my great sin? 

 

I don’t want my _friend_ to get hurt, especially not because of something _I_ got her involved in, and you decide to stop talking me?”

 

Ginny’s jaw clenched.  Pulling herself up so she looked down at him, she bellowed,

 

“That’s right!”

 

“Great.  Just great,” Harry barked back, his voice rising with every word as he struggled to his knees as well.  He wasn’t going to let Ginny have the advantage here.  “Well, you know what?  If letting you get yourself killed is what it takes to be your friend than I’d rather not.  I’d rather you be _alive_.” 

 

Harry rose unsteadily to his feet, intending on a dramatic exit.  “If you want to end our friendship because I _care_ about you, then go right ahead!”  The wine sloshed over on to his hand.  Why was he standing again?  He forgot.  He took a drink instead, licking the thick liquid off his hand.  It really tasted brilliant.

 

Not to be out done, Ginny scrambled to her feet.  Her fists clenched and face  red, she screamed.  “I wasn’t going to _die_ , you daft fool.”  Then she seemed to get frustrated having to tilt her chin up to yell at him and climbed onto the sofa so she could bellow down into Harry’s face.  “I was _fine_!  And for the record, just because a girl is hacked off at a bloke, doesn’t mean they aren’t _friends_!”

 

“Is that so!”

 

“Yeah!”

 

Well … well, then.  Harry really didn’t have a comeback for that.  His head was spinning just a bit and he felt rather deflated, but he managed to mutter, “Well, that’s just daft.”

 

Ginny frowned, some of the anger seeming to leave her as well.  “No it’s not,” she argued, her voice back to its normal volume.  “You just don’t understand girls.” 

 

With that proclamation, possibly the truest statement Ginny had ever made, she climbed off of the sofa and flopped down onto it, her lips forming that pout again.  Only this time it didn’t seem childish.  This time it seemed … _sexy_.

 

What was he doing again?  Harry looked down at himself, standing there with a half empty wine bottle clutched in his hand.  He kept forgetting things.  Oh well.  He fell onto the sofa next to Ginny.  He probably shouldn’t be sitting this close to her, but it made that lovely fuzzy feeling come back.

 

Staring blankly, away from Harry, Ginny took another swig from her bottle.  “I don’t see why you care about me talking to you anyway,” she sulked.  “You’re just going to forget all about me the minute we set foot back at Hogwarts.”

 

Harry snorted.  Loudly.  He _wished_ he could forget about her.  He really, _really_ did. 

 

“That’s bullocks.  I don’t forget about my friends.”

 

Ginny shook her head, saying in a pessimistic, self-pitying tone, “You will.  All you’ll want to do is hang around with Ron and Hermione.”

 

Harry rolled his eyes at her melodramatics, drawling sarcastically, “Yes, because a bloke can’t have more than two friends at a time.”  He snorted in disbelief.  He couldn’t believe the shite Ginny was throwing at him.  “You’re the one with the _boyfriend_.  If anything, Dean won’t want you hanging around with me—us.”

 

This time it was Ginny who scoffed, “As if Dean has some sort of say.  If I want to be your friend, I bloody well will be!”

 

Harry swallowed.  Annoying fluttery things had taken sudden residence in his stomach. 

 

“And do you?”

 

“I said I did, didn’t I?”

 

She hadn’t.  Actually, Harry was quite sure Ginny had said the opposite, but he wasn’t about to argue with _that_.  “Fine.”

 

“Fine.”

 

The fluttery things turned into something warm and wonderful and suddenly Harry had trouble looking at her.  Now what?  Oh right, he still had more wine.  Should drink that then.

 

“What if your new girlfriend doesn’t want _you_ to be _my_ friend?” Ginny asked crossly.

Harry choked, pulling the bottle away from his mouth so quickly that wine dribbled down his chin, staining his shirt.  Wiping his mouth and coughing, he managed to get out, “What girlfriend?”

 

“The one you will _undoubtedly_ get as soon as you’re back at Hogwarts.”

 

She must be drunk, because now Ginny was making absolutely _no_ sense.  “I’m not going to get a girlfriend,” Harry protested, trying to sound as reasonable as he could with wine trickling down his chin.

 

Ginny snorted in disbelief.  “Please.  The girls were in line before.  After the Department of Mysteries you’re _really_ a bloody hero and,” she gestured her hand toward his body in a way that caused Harry to flush, “ _look_ at you.  It’ll be a bloody cat fight.  You could have anyone you want.”  Turning fully toward him, she demanded, “Who do you want?”

 

Harry thought he might hyperventilate.  “Excuse me?”

 

“It’s a simple question, Harry,” Ginny stated irately.  “ _Who_ do you want?”

 

He couldn’t believe this was happening to him.  Was he really having this conversation? 

With the _only_ girl he wanted to be his girlfriend?  Shite.  Shite.  And shite again.  “No … no one,” Harry stammered and Ginny gave an even louder snort, her face turning red with anger _again_.  Damn it.  What was he supposed say now? 

 

“No … I … I don’t have time for a girlfriend,” Harry managed.  “I have to concentrate on the war.  A girlfriend would too distracting.  Anyway, it would put her in too much danger.”  Well, he wasn’t lying.  Ginny was the only girl he knew who was even close to being strong enough to be his girlfriend and he couldn’t have her.  Even if … he was starting to feel a little sick.

 

Ginny’s lip twisted in disgust.  “Doesn’t it get old being so damn noble all the time?”

 

Harry’s head fell onto the back of the sofa.  “Yeah.  It sure does.”

 

They drank in sullen silence for several minutes.  Or hours.  Who knew?  “This isn’t much fun without the flame fruit,” Ginny finally said, her voice practically a whimper.

 

“Nope,” Harry agreed, staring at the ceiling.  It was really rather ugly, peeling and stained.

 

Then, all of a sudden, Ginny stood up so quickly that Harry had to grab onto the arm of the sofa as the world began to spin.  “I know,” she said excitedly.  “We’ll go get our broomsticks like we did—”

 

Harry shook his head.  “Your mum’s home, Ginny, and Adrianna’s not drunk and Charlie’s not here to distract her and—”

 

“I get it,” she muttered, sighing and flopping back down in her seat.  “Bloody hell.”  Ginny took another long drink of wine. 

 

But it wasn’t long before that wild excited look was back in her glazed over eyes.  Uh oh.  She reached over, rather clumsily, and balanced her bottle on a near by table.  Then Harry sat in shock as she jumped up, climbing onto the sofa.

 

“What the hell are you doing?” Harry gasped, genuinely afraid for her sanity _and_ her neck.

 

Breathless and childlike, but in a completely adorable way, Ginny explained, “When I was little, I wasn’t allowed to ride broomsticks with my brothers.  So, I would go out to the fence and stand on the edge and pretend.”  To Harry’s horror, she climbed up onto the back of the sofa, balancing precariously.  “Damn near gave Mum a heart attack when she found me.  If you stand on one foot it feels like—”

 

She was going to give _Harry_ a Goddamn heart attack.  “Ginny,” he cried, leaping to his feet to grab her, but his weight had been keeping the sofa steady and it lurched precariously.  Ginny started to keel. 

 

Panicked, Harry quickly threw his weight back onto the sofa, reaching out just in time for Ginny to tumble over and fall on her arse … right across his lap.  She landed with an oof, giggling like mad and clutching his shoulder.

 

Harry had trouble catching his breath.  It was just like Ginny’s party.  Her lips were inches away.  But this was wrong.  It wasn’t like before.  She had a boyfriend now.

 

But Harry was piss drunk and he was sick of being so damn noble.  He didn’t want to be the hero anymore.  He might never have this chance again.  No matter what happened, he was going to regret this moment for the rest of his life.  Did he want to go to his grave regretting kissing her or _not_ kissing her?

 

Bloody hell.  Harry took a shaky breath, closed his eyes, and pressed his lips to hers.

 

 

 

 

* * * * *


	42. Like This

Ginny didn’t know what she intended when she stole that bottle of wine from the pantry. 

 

She just walked in to get a snack and saw the bottle and … it was an impulse, really.  She didn’t have a _plan,_ per se.  But one thing was for certain, at _no_ point did Ginny intend on drinking alone.

 

Maybe she wanted to shake things up with Harry.  Or maybe she just wanted an excuse to talk to him again without swallowing her pride, which, by the way, hadn’t gone so badly. 

 

But Ginny never thought, had she never imagined, that she would wind up sprawled across Harry’s lap with his lips on hers.  Not tonight.  Not in her wildest dreams.

 

Well, maybe in her _wildest_ dreams.  But this is _not_ what she intended.  Why would Ginny think that _this_ would happen?  Harry had a million opportunities to kiss her this summer.  Why would he kiss her _now_ , when she wasn’t available and they were barely speaking to each other?

 

Dear God, Harry Potter was kissing her.  He was kissing _her_.  It was wrong and Ginny needed to stop it and she’s been dreaming of this moment since she was ten years old. 

 

 _Shite_.  His kiss was drunken, wet, and inexperienced; boring, really.  Just one pair of lips pressed against another’s.  This wasn’t how this was supposed to happen.

 

Harry was _supposed_ to have been her first kiss.  But instead, he was her fourth and they were both drunk and Ginny had a perfectly nice boyfriend.  One who she couldn’t even break up with because, at this very moment, he was sitting vigil next to his half-dead mother. 

 

Ginny really needed to pull away.  She needed to pull away and give Harry a very firm punch for kissing her _now_ of all times.  But she would be damned if she was going to go through her whole life having _this_ pathetic excuse for a kiss be the only kiss she ever shared with the boy of her dreams.  In for a Knut, in for a Gaellon.  Right?

 

So, she forcibly pushed aside all thoughts of how horribly wrong this was, how this was quite possibly the worst, most immoral thing Ginny had ever done.  Then wrapping her hands around his neck and weaving her fingers into his horribly wonderful, unruly Harry-hair, she tilted his head and pulled him closer. 

 

Then Ginny proceeded to show Harry what a _real_ kiss was.  When Harry moaned and opened his lips under hers, she didn’t have to worry about those pesky self-recriminations, because they were all gone with a poof, along with every other thought in her head.

 

Sliding her lips over his, Ginny found Harry caught on rather quickly.  He began mimicking her movements in a way that made her heart rate double and a flash of pleasure pool low in her belly.

 

“Mmmm.” 

 

Did that moan come from her?  Yes, it definitely did.  God, it just felt _so_ good.  Even if Harry was hesitant and unsure … but then, suddenly, he wasn’t.  Hesitant, that was.  He growled into her mouth and instantly changed.  Harry shoved one hand in her hair, pulling out her ponytail, as he wrapped his other arm around Ginny’s back, hauling her even closer.

 

His tongue breached her lips and if it was any other boy she would have choked at the inexperienced aggression.  But this was Harry and Ginny was sick and she was so far from disgusted that her knickers were immediately soaked through.  So, she moaned again and tangled her tongue with his, showing him exactly how a proper snog worked.

 

And dear God, what a snog it was.  Had Ginny said he was a quick study?  It went beyond that.  And what he lacked in skill, Harry more than made up for in passion and enthusiasm.  His hand was kneading her back in the most amazing way and his stubble burned her cheeks and lips.  She was going to swollen in the morning.

 

Shite.  Ginny’s lips were going to be _swollen_ in the morning.  She was going to see her bloody _boyfriend_ in the morning.  Her boyfriend, who was _not_ the boy she was currently wrapped up in a passionate snog with.  And it _wasn’t_ her boyfriend whose lap she was sitting on with his erection pressed against her arse.

 

But she wished it was.  Oh God, how Ginny wished Harry was her boyfriend.  This wasn’t how this was supposed to happen.

 

Ginny was a horrific slag.  She had a boyfriend and Harry had just finished an extremely annoying speech about how he didn’t even want a girlfriend.  So, even if she was free, he … why was he doing this?  Was it the wine?  Did he think she was a tart who would snog anyone?  Oh God, she _was_ a tart.

 

One minute, Ginny had her tongue blissful wrapped around Harry’s, the next she was pushing him away violently and struggling out of his lap, leaving him to cry out in confusion, “Whah …”

 

Harry looked bereft.  Bereft and beautifully disheveled and well-snogged,but a second later he looked crestfallen and heartbroken.  It resonated with the horrible wrenching inside her and it was so painful Ginny could barely breathe. 

 

It _wasn’t_ supposed to be this way.

 

Ginny turned to the only alternative she had left.  Anger.  “Goddamn it, Harry!  What the hell do you think you’re doing?  I have a bloody boyfriend.”

 

For a moment Harry looked so stricken that Ginny could barely stand it, but then his face, too, transformed into blessed rage.  “I know that you have a bloody boyfriend, Ginny!

Don’t you think I fucking know?”

 

Ginny reeled back.  What did he mean by _that_?  It made no sense.  _None_ of this made any sense.  Was Harry jealous?  Now, when it was too late?  The wine was numbing her brain and the pain and confusion were reaching overwhelming levels.  She couldn’t stand it any longer. 

 

She launched herself at him, pummeling his chest out of shear frustration. “Goddamn you!” Ginny whimpered, realizing for the first time tears were pouring down her face.

 

“Gin,” Harry breathed, his voice thick and heavy as he grabbed her shoulders, but he made no move to keep her fists from colliding with his chest.  “I’m sorry.  I’m sorry … You’re right.  I’m a prick.  I shouldn’t have done that.  I …”

 

It wasn’t the right thing to say.  It hurt beyond words to hear Harry say he regretted their kiss, but how could Ginny blame him?  What else was he supposed to say with her pummeling him?  It wasn’t even his fault, not all of it.  She was the one who kissed him back.  She was the one who turned it into a full-out snog.

 

Ginny turned, breaking away from him and stumbling until she bent over with the force of her sobs.  This wasn’t the way it was supposed to happen, Goddamn it!

 

Harry caught her around the waist, his face burrowing into the nape of her neck.  If she didn’t know better, she would have said his face was wet as well.  “I’m _so_ sorry, Ginny.  _Please_ , forgive me.”

 

His sweetness just made Ginny cry harder.  “I’m a slag.  You think I’m a—”

 

“No.  _No_.  I would never … this is _my_ fault.  The damn wine and my own stupidity and I’m _so_ sorry.  Please, Ginny.  Tell me what to do to make it better.  I don’t want … I _need_ you in my life, Ginny.”

 

She’d never heard more wonderful, more heartbreaking words.  But there was nothing she could say, nothing _he_ could do, _nothing_ was going to make _this_ better.  Not that it mattered.  He wasn’t going to lose her.  As much as it hurt, Ginny needed Harry as well.  She couldn’t turn her back on him.

 

Ginny wiped her face with broad, harsh strokes, yanking herself out of his arms.  She couldn’t think with Harry touching her.  Taking a deep, gasping breath, she managed to pull herself together enough to say, “No, it’s fine.  It’s … you’re right.  It was … it was the wine.  We did something stupid, but …”

 

But what?  It was over now.  They should just forget it.  Ginny couldn’t say that.  Not when she could still taste him on her lips.  Maybe tomorrow.  Maybe then she could say what she needed to. 

 

“We just need to sleep it off,” she stammered.  Then Ginny took one last look at Harry and the haunted look in his eyes almost killed her.  “Goodnight, Harry.”

 

She ran to her room, barely able to wrench the door open and lock it behind her before the sobs began again.  After Ginny had cried every last tear she had inside her, she curled into a ball and hugged herself tightly.

 

Ginny stayed in the same position until the sun came up, lying there, trying to forget that the most horribly wrong, completely inept kiss she had ever received was also the best she’d ever had.

 

 

 

* * * * *

 

 

 

Over her last week at Grimmauld Place, Hermione had made a habit of sitting at the window in Ron’s bedroom … well, _their_ bedroom.  Not once during the entire summer had she slept a full night in the room she was supposedly sharing with Ginny. 

 

It was strange thinking about it now, especially since she had to face her cold, lonely bed in the dormitory tomorrow.  She had been sleeping with Ron for a month.  And she may never get to do it again.

 

Now, with only hours left of her holiday, the window had called to her, comforting and familiar.  Hermione had changed the enchantment on it so that it showed the scene from her childhood bedroom.  Then after several days, Ron, fixated with the idea of her tumbling off the ledge (an entire three feet to the floor), had transfigured her a window seat to go with it. 

 

It was the sweetest gesture, caring and thoughtful.  Now the window was even more appealing … and perplexing.  Why shouldn’t it be?  Now, it was a part of Ron and had been bestowed with all of the same qualities. 

 

Everything about him these days was appealing and confusing, stirring up so many emotions Hermione didn’t know which end was up anymore.  Every day, Ron gave her a series of hopeful, wonderfully loving signs, like transfiguring this window seat.  And this, like everything else, led to absolutely _nothing_.  Despite everything, their relationship remained stagnant.

 

Last week, after Diagon Alley, Hermione was so sure that Ron would finally say he wanted to be with her … _really_ be with her.  He would claim her.  Or at least make some sort of declaration.  Honestly, if jealousy wasn’t going to motivate him, what was?

 

Ron had been so fiercely possessive of her that day in Flourish & Blotts.  And, heavens, it was a beautiful sight to behold.  Yes, she, Hermione Granger, was just like every other woman.  They may mutter and they may huff, but secretly all of womankind _adore_ seeing their men in a jealous rage.  The protestations and righteous indignation of her gender were merely an act, even if they wouldn’t admit it, even to themselves.

 

The look in Ron’s eye, the way he snatched her hand out of Seamus’, it gave her that feeling, that tingly, hot, liquid feeling that Hermione only got when Ron touched her, the feeling that was always accompanied by a dampness in her knickers.  Hermione blushed just thinking about it.

 

And while she was being completely, brutally honest with herself, she might as well admit that she may have egged the situation on a bit, done that horrible, catty, female thing.  Hermione had let Seamus hold her hand much longer than she normally would just because she was enjoying Ron’s display. 

 

Of course, normally she wouldn’t have let Seamus touch her at all.  But it was so strange.  Why would he touch her in the first place, never mind hold her hand like that?  Truth be told, when it first happened, Hermione was too shocked to move. 

 

Seamus Finnigan flirting … with _her_?  He had to have been making fun of her.  For goodness sakes, he’d called her a cold fish, a prissy little prude, just the end of term.  Clearly, it was just a game to him.  A cruel one at that.

 

But then Ron showed up and Seamus’ motivations were the last thing on Hermione’s mind.  It didn’t matter if he was _really_ flirting with her, just that Ron thought he was.  Something like that was exactly the kick in the bum that boy needed.

 

Did it make her a bad person?  That she completely forgot about Seamus as anything other than a means to an end with Ron?  Maybe.  And maybe now Hermione was being punished for her callousness.

 

She had been so sure they’d come home from Diagon Alley and then … but nothing, absolutely nothing was what Hermione got.  Well, nothing except some rather hard-to-remove “love bites.”  There should be a better name for those, like “lust bites.”  What did “love” have to do with it?

 

This was getting ridiculous.  Adrianna said that Ron fancied her.  Well, she’d said that he didn’t _not_ fancy her which implied that he _did_ fancy her.  That meant something, didn’t it?  Hermione wasn’t sure.  She had replayed her conversation with the Empath so many times she wasn’t even sure _what_ Adrianna actually said anymore. 

 

But if Ron _did_ fancy her, then what was he waiting for?  Hermione was getting desperate.  Getting?  Ha!  Hermione _was_ desperate.  This was the end.  This was their _last_ night.  Tomorrow their strange, frightening, wonderful summer, closeted away and protected would end.  Change.  Tomorrow _everything_ would change. 

 

Hermione wouldn’t have Ron to herself anymore.  There would be girls everywhere.  Pretty girls, ones who weren’t related to him or a decade older than him or a brother’s girlfriend.  There would be _competition_.

 

They’d go back to Hogwarts, where their roles were clearly defined.  Hermione was the bookworm, the teacher’s pet, the know-it-all, the perfect prefect.  Ron was the lazy, laid-back, easy-to-get-along-with bloke who just happened to have gained another four inches in height and definition in all his muscles. 

 

At Grimmauld Place, they could just be themselves, but at school …  How could Ron and Hermione move ahead when they were so stuck in the roles given to them?  With the weight of everyone’s expectations burdening them, holding them back?  And things just going back to the way they were … that was the optimistic alternative.  The worst case scenario involved the complete and utter destruction of their friendship.

 

It wasn’t that Hermione was worried that Ron wouldn’t want her as his friend anymore.  She knew he would.  He was loyal and loving.  He would always want her around. 

 

Actually, she quite suspected that he would do an extraordinary amount to keep her as a friend, even commit to a relationship he didn’t really want.

 

No, what Hermione was worried about was that _she_ would be the one to end their friendship, that _she_ wouldn’t be able to stand it if … if Ron started dating another girl.  She wanted him in her life no matter what, but …

 

People thought Ron was the jealous one, but it wasn’t _just_ him.  Hermione was merely better at hiding it.  Secretly, she suspected that she was much, _much_ worse.  Seeing him with someone else, it would eat at her, corrode her insides.  Hermione didn’t know how she could stand it.  She loved him _so_ much.

 

“Hermione?”

 

She started at the sound of Ron’s voice, her eyes jerking up to find him standing in the doorway.  Immediately, Hermione’s heart began to race.  Panic and embarrassment washed over her along with the absurd feeling that Ron could tell what she had been thinking.  That she had been caught.

 

It was utterly absurd.  If Ron was _that_ perceptive it would be highly unlikely that she would be in the impossible position she was in now.  But still, the feeling wouldn’t leave.  Maybe it was a good thing that they were leaving this place; it was draining Hermione’s sanity.

 

Ron closed the door behind him and stepped closer, into the stream of light produced by the enchanted moon in the window.  Despite her uneasiness, Hermione felt a sudden rush of warmth and comfort brought on by his presence.  Leaning her head against the window pane, she managed a small welcoming smile.

 

“Hermione, you’re …” Ron began, his brow furrowing with concern.  “You’re crying.  What’s wrong?”

 

She was?  Hermione frowned, her hand flying to her cheek.  Sure enough, wet paths streaked her face.  She hadn’t realized.  Who cries without realizing it?  “Dunno,” she whispered.  It was only half a lie.

 

Ron sat behind her on the only available part of the window seat and Hermione rolled her head along the pane so she could meet his eyes.  She intended on reassuring him, but the quiet concern on his face only made the tears fall faster and her throat constrict.

 

Reaching out, Ron gently brushed a damp curl from Hermione’s cheek, tucking it carefully behind her ear.  She held her breath as he softly ran the back of his hand over her face, catching the dampness and sweeping away her tears.  She closed her eyes with a whimper and could have sworn she felt his thumb catch a tear from her lash.

 

None of it seemed real.  Was this just a romantic dream?  Ron was being so sweet, so loving, his expression uncomplicated and gentle.  It was frustrating.  It was _so_ frustrating that it was infuriating.  What was _wrong_ with him?  What was wrong with _her_?  How could he be this way and not want her?  All Hermione wanted was for him to want her enough to claim her.  Was that so much to ask?

 

“Tell me what’s wrong?” Ron entreated, his tone so soft it was barely a whisper, his voice deep and intimate.

 

Hermione shook her head as fresh tears pooled in her eyes.  She could feel them now, making warm tracks down her cheeks, tracing salty paths to her lips.  If she looked at

Ron any longer she’d lose all control, so she turned her eyes to the window, gazing out at her favorite willow tree.  Her parents cut the real one down after she had left for Hogwarts.

 

Ron sighed.  She felt more than heard it, a warm rush of air against her nape as he shifted behind her, his arm sliding around her waist.  It was wonderfully comforting.  Her tears fell faster, but still, Hermione couldn’t help but lean back against him, hugging his arm to her, because … because she was weak and no matter what, she needed him.

 

Placing his chin on her shoulder, Ron turned his face into her hair and Hermione could feel him breathing her in.  Or was she just imagining it?  Was that what all the so-called signs she’d been reading really were?  Imaginings?  Delusions of a desperate mind?  Was she only seeing what she wanted to see?

 

“What can I do?” Ron asked, tickling her ear as he spoke.  “How can I make it better?”

 

Hermione bit her lip and took a sharp breath to control the broken sob that threatened to surface.  Ron had no idea what he was offering.  How could he possibly know that he could fix it all so easily?  If he wanted to.  _If_ she let him.

 

It would be simple, really.  All Hermione had to do was say to Ron, “Ask me to be your girlfriend.”  Would he do it?

 

“Let me help,” Ron asked again.  It was almost a plea.

 

He _would_.  In that moment, Hermione had no doubt in her mind that Ron would do exactly as she asked, say _those_ words.  But could she demand that of him when he was being so giving, when he was so vulnerable?

 

But Hermione was tempted, _sorely_ tempted to prey on Ron’s soft heart, his protectiveness, and his desire to keep her from pain.  Could she trap him into something that she didn’t know he wanted with her tears?  Had she come that far?  Had she become _that_ sort of witch?

 

“Please.  Talk to me.  Give me something to do.”

 

Hermione shook her head.  “There’s nothing.”  The lie just fell from her lips, with amazing ease.  All the trouble Harry and Ginny got into this summer by keeping secrets, by lying, was she doing the same thing?

 

“You know I would do anything I could to fix it,” Ron assured her, his thumb tracing circles over her shirt, against her belly.

 

“I know,” she whispered, tipping her head back, enjoying the feel of his shoulder against her crown as she stared at the ceiling.

 

Maybe she should tell him _something_ , tell him what she wanted, how she felt.  Not everything, but … Hermione _could_ just say that she wanted a real relationship.  She didn’t need to bring up love.  She didn’t have to _ask_ him to be with her, just tell him what _she_ wanted and let him make the decision.  It was the honest thing to do.

 

Perhaps it was time for Hermione to lay her cards on the table.  She could do that.  She was a Gryffindor, wasn’t she?  She was going to do it. 

 

Hermione lifted her head from the glass and turned. He was so beautiful, looking back at her, serious and still in the moonlight with his achingly soulful blue eyes and long red lashes.

 

And she couldn’t do it.  Hermione couldn’t summon the words to her lips.  She froze, fear tightening like a vise around her throat, making it impossible for her to say anything at all.  She wasn’t supposed to be the one who spoke first.  It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

 

All this time, Hermione had convinced herself that this whole scheme was for Ron’s benefit.  The subterfuge, the Practicing nonsense, doing things backwards so that he would figure things on his own, that he would fall in love with her, that he would _ask_.  On his own.

 

Hermione had even told Harry that she was keeping quiet because _Ron_ needed it to be this way.  For his manhood.  For his pride.  Because _he_ was old fashioned. 

 

But it wasn’t.  It was for her.            Suddenly, it was all completely clear.  _She_ needed Ron to be the one who initiated a relationship.  _She_ needed him to be the aggressor. 

 

Hermione needed him to _ask_.  She would never really know; never really _believe_ he wanted her unless he asked.  _Without_ prompting.  

 

In _this_ , Hermione couldn’t be the know-it-all, the pushy one.  She couldn’t bully or nag Ron into doing what she wanted him to do.  The stakes were too high.  This was the rest of her life.  In this, she wanted … no, _needed_ to be claimed. 

 

It was shameful and anti-feminist and the realization made her rather disgusted with herself.  Almost disgusted enough to make her blurt out the truth right then and there, but Hermione’s body wouldn’t let her.  Her mouth wouldn’t form the words.  Her lungs

wouldn’t provide the necessary breath.

 

And all the while, Ron was brushing back her hair, his hands lingering on her face, twisting her curls around his fingers.  Hermione waged an internal battle as he sat there giving her everything but the words she needed to hear. 

 

“What is it?” he whispered, lifting one foot onto the back of the seat and pulling her between his legs.

 

“Ron …” Hermione licked her lips.  Turning so that her back rested against his knee instead of the window, she laid her cheek against his chest and gave him part of the truth, “It’s our last night here.”

 

She thought she saw a flash of pain come over Ron’s face, though she could be wrong. 

 

Hermione couldn’t trust herself on these matters anymore.  Even so, she snuggled into him in a reflexive need to comfort and diminish any sadness he might have, slipping her calf over his leg, hopelessly tangling them together.  Fitting, wasn’t it?

 

Ron’s expression smoothed out as he wrapped his arms around her waist.  Then leaning his cheek against the top of her head, he hid his face from her as he joked, his voice thick and low, “I thought you’d be excited to go back.  All that fascinating homework.”

 

Hermione couldn’t even bring herself to smile.  Instead, she buried her nose in his shirt.  “I like it here.”

 

She felt the bob of his Adam’s apple against her temple.  When he spoke, the lightness of his words seemed forced.  “Here?  With the no fresh air and the occasional Death Eater in the foyer—”

 

“I _like_ it here.”

 

Sighing, Ron gave up the pretense.  “I like it here, too.”  His hand crept up to her chin and gently urged her to look up at him.  His eyes searched her face.  Then brushing her wet cheek with his thumb, he pressed a light kiss to her forehead.

 

The look in his eyes it … it seemed so much like love.  If _this_ wasn’t what love looked like, then what was?  Was his expression so different from the one Hermione saw in the mirror everyday?  What did he see in her eyes when she looked at him?  Surely, she

wasn’t hiding anything.  How could he not understand?

 

And would he ever look at her this way again?  Would there be nights at Hogwarts where she sat in Ron’s arms?  Was this _really_ the end?

 

After long minutes of silence, Ron finally gave her a small smile.  “So, Hermione Granger, this is your last night of summer holiday, is _this_ how you want to spend it?”

 

Hermione was shaking her head before the words finished leaving his mouth.  If there was any chance at all that this was her last night with Ron, she didn’t want to spend it thinking herself into a deep depression.

 

Turning more fully toward him, Hermione simply said, “No.” 

 

Then she leaned forward and pressed her mouth to Ron’s.  Lips closed, eyes open, dry and chaste.  It was like a first kiss.  Not at all like _her_ first kiss.  That was a dream-induced wonder, nothing like Hermione had thought it would be and so much more than she’d ever imagined.  But then, it all was.

 

Hermione’s hands fluttered up and cupped his face, her thumbs tracing his cheekbones. 

 

Ron gave a low moan that was almost a whimper and pulled her closer.  Taking control of the kiss, he tilted his head and dragged his lips over hers.  Warm, openmouthed, and sensual, it reminded her that he didn’t kiss like a boy anymore.  He’d had plenty of Practice.

 

Ron had become a man this summer, in more ways than one.  Kissing her was effortless now.  He knew exactly how to tease her bottom lip with his tongue while soothing her back with long stokes.  His other hand moved so surreptitiously that Hermione hardly realized what was happening until he cupped her bum and pulled her hips toward him, so that she was practically straddling his outer thigh.

 

The way Ron kissed her, it was as if … as if he loved her.  He touched her as if he loved her.  He looked at her as if he loved her.  He talked to her and fought with her and threw jealous fits _as if_ he loved her.  Why?  Just, _why_?

 

Was it that Hermione didn’t really know what love looked like?  Or was there something she didn’t understand holding him back?  She was so confused.  Nothing made sense anymore.  Nothing.

 

Nothing except _this_.  Hermione parted her lips and he immediately took her up on her invitation.  _This_ , the slide of his tongue over hers, their lips pressed so tightly together it bruised, the warmth and the wet and the rasp of his stubble … on some base level, _this_ made sense.

 

Ron moaned, a signal, a warning almost, given just before the intensity of his kiss doubled, then doubled again.  Hermione was having trouble catching her breath, but she’d let herself pass out before she broke this kiss. 

 

She came up on one knee, the leg thrown over his curling around his hip, pulling him to her.  With one hand, Hermione gripped his hair in a way that must be painful while the other dug into his thigh, encouraging the pressure it was exerting on her side.  Yet, it wasn’t enough.  God, she needed him _closer_.

 

This was their last night.  It was Hermione’s last chance to make herself indispensable to Ron.  Tomorrow her plan would have officially failed.  And if it did, then …  Tears fell again, mingling with the taste of his lips and tongue, the chocolate and tea he’d had after dinner, overlaying the essential Ron flavor.

 

More.  _Please_.

 

Hermione pulled back from the kiss, gasping for breath.  Ron whimpered, his hands pulling at her back and bum.  The look of need and lust on his face made the ache in her pelvis twist and throb.

 

“Ron,” Hermione breathed, forgetting what she wanted to say.  Had she wanted to say something?  His hand squeezed her bum.  “Ron, take me to bed.”  Oh, was that what she meant to say? 

 

Ron’s eyes slipped closed.  Groaning, he threw his head back and took a deep gasping breath.  Lovely.  Maybe that _was_ what she meant to say.  Hermione smiled, knowing she could effect him so with just her words.  She had _that_ at least. 

 

“Damn, Hermione.  You can’t say things like that,” Ron panted, his voice rough.

There was a hard ridge pressed against Hermione’s thigh that felt differently.  _That_ part of him seemed to appreciate her words quite a bit.  It was nice to know that there were some signs that were difficult to misinterpret. 

 

“Things like what?” she teased, the familiar heady wash of arousal making her feel both giddy and courageous.

 

Ron didn’t bother to answer.  His lips curled in a growl and he dragged her mouth back to his.  Smiling, Hermione gave in without a fight, meeting him in a kiss without introduction, one that was immediately deep and penetrating.  She could feel his tongue brush along her back teeth and a damp rush in her nether regions.

 

But minutes passed and Ron made no move to advance past the passionate snog they were engaged in.  He was relaxed against the window, his hands seeming content over her clothes.  What was wrong with him? 

 

Impatient, Hermione’s hands blindly grasped for his shirt.  But when her fingers found the edge and slid underneath, she became distracted by the feel of taunt smooth skin over muscle.  Ron had filled out over the last month.  It was so gradual that it was easy to miss.  That is, if one wasn’t obsessively cataloging every change, every ridge the way Hermione was. 

 

Slowly, Ron’s bones had become less and less visible under the freckled skin and firm muscles smoothed the surface.  He wasn’t bulky and he’d never look like Charlie, but he had the most delicious definition.  God, he was hers.  No one else could have him.  She swore, she’d _never_ let anyone else have him.

 

She needed more.  Oh, right, that was what she had been doing before she got distracted.  Hermione grabbed the edge of his shirt and pulled.  Uncharacteristically obedient, Ron readily loosened his hold on her, giving into the pressure yanking at his arms and allowing her to free him from the restraining fabric.

 

Their kiss was only interrupted for a second.  Ron’s hand immediately curled back into her hair, tugging her lips back to his.  His now bare arm circled her back and the kiss began again as if it had never been broken.

 

Moaning appreciatively, Hermione ran her hands over his shoulders and biceps, feeling the give and pull of the muscles that held her so firmly.  She loved how soft and malleable they were when relaxed, hiding their strength.  Muscles that could so easily become rock hard and break a man’s nose with a single punch …

 

The idea actually excited her.  She was turned _on_ by Ron hurting someone.  What was wrong with her?  Where was the Hermione Granger she used to know?  And why didn’t she care that the girl she’d known had abandoned her?

 

But tonight all that mattered was Ron.  She was obsessed with the hidden strength inside of him.  She needed him to show it to her.  No, that was wrong.  It wasn’t just his strength she needed.  Hermione needed him to be the aggressor, to _use_ that strength to prove to her how much he wanted her. 

 

Hermione would have laughed if she had the breath.  God, it was her night for self-honesty, wasn’t it?  Where was her pride?  It was humbling, the power of these base drives, how they over road everything else.

 

And, damn it, where were Ron’s base drives!  Still, he made no move to progress.  Where was his _urge_ to dominate?  Why was he going so damn slowly?  Why didn’t he want … _no_!  Hermione didn’t want to think about why.  She just wanted Ron to do _something_.

 “ _Please_.”

 

Hermione hated that she had to beg, but when a low rumble in Ron’s chest singled the change she wanted, it was well worth it.  The cropped nails on his fingertips dug into the skin of her back as his hand clenched.  Then, with a speed that left her dizzy, he pulled himself up onto his knees and yanked her to him.

 

His mouth plundered as he jerked her around as if she was a rag doll, pulling both of her thighs around his waist.  Hermione was straddling his lap before she knew what was happening.  Ron had complete control.  The only move she had left was to pull him closer.  Well, _this_ was better.

 

Ron’s hand clutched her bum, his hips pushing up into her as he guided her, their pelvises grinding against each other.  Waves of mind numbing pleasure washed over her and Hermione had only one coherent thought left.  Oh, yes, this was much, _much_ better.

 

She barely had time to catch her bearings when, without warning, Ron stood, leaving Hermione to yelp into his mouth and fling her arms around his shoulders to keep from lurching backward as he effortlessly lifted her from the seat. 

 

Wow.  Now, _that_ was sexy.  Also sexy was the way his mouth never faltered in kissing her the entire time.  Who would have reckoned Ron was so coordinated?  If he channeled _this_ into his Quidditch, he’d never lose a game.  Though, Hermione certainly preferred the current application.

 

Ron managed to set her down on the bed and pull up her shirt all at the same time.  When it was finally free, he flung it across the room and Hermione fell backwards, vaguely hoping the shirt didn’t land on poor Harry’s bed.  _Poor_ Harry.  She hoped he didn’t come back to the room for awhile. 

 

Hermione bit back a giggle as Ron yanked the curtains of the bed closed and hastily placed an Imperturbable around them.  Yes, Hermione _loved_ Ron in-control.  It was a beautiful sight to behold. 

 

She stretched her arms over her head and watched the play of muscles in the darkness as he moved.  When Ron turned to her that feral look was back in his eyes and intensity was painted across his features.  He looked dangerous.  Hermione smiled. 

 

Then suddenly, Ron was over her, holding himself up on out stretched arms, his hands on either side of her head.  Hermione was trapped. And so excited she thought her ribs might burst with the force of her heartbeat.  Her hips began to twitch in anticipation and he wasn’t even touching her yet. 

 

The muscles of his arms were hard now, each vein visible.  Hermione’s tongue found her bottom lip and she watched Ron’s eyes trace its path as she moistened it. The anticipation grew until she didn’t think she could handle one more second. 

 

Then, with a growl, Ron’s head dipped and his tongue traced the path hers had gone, chasing it back into her mouth before drawing back to sink his teeth into her wet lip.  Hermione was so far gone that she didn’t feel one bit of pain.

 

She moaned from the onslaught as Ron trailed a path of laving kisses mixed with possessive bites along her chin and neck.  Every place he touched throbbed with sensation, made all the more acute by the awareness that his body was so close, yet he refused to give her his weight.

 

Possessive, forceful Ron was Hermione’s absolute favorite.  What he wouldn’t claim in the light of day he claimed late at night.  She should leave the marks.  Let him explain them to everyone on the Hogwarts Express.  Let every witch there see the evidence.  He was hers.  Tonight, anyway, he was hers.

 

“Take off your bra.”

 

Hermione’s eyes fluttered open at the command, not having realized they had closed in the first place.  “What?”

 

She must have misheard.  Ron didn’t order her around when they were Practicing.  He almost _never_ ordered her around.  The only time he became bossy with Hermione was when he thought she was in danger … or was spending time with another bloke. 

 

“Take it _off_ ,” Ron repeated, slow and husky.  Neither his voice nor his eyes wavered as he stared into her, making her feel like prey. 

 

Had Hermione mentioned that a confident Ron was _also_ a sexy Ron?  She needed to start a list.  Tomorrow.  Right now, she was scrambling to obey him, struggling to her elbows, pressing against his chest as he refused to move from his position above her and she had precious little space to maneuver in.  Dear God and she thought she was aroused _before_.

 

Hermione’s hands were trembling so badly she couldn’t get the clasp open.  “Damn it,” she swore under her breath and Ron’s eyes flashed, a smile quirking the side of his mouth as he swooped down to give her shoulder a nip in reward for her minor swear.

 

Finally, Hermione managed to free herself from the offending bra and tossed it aside. 

 

She then willed herself to relax as she sunk back into the bed. Her breasts were still heaving from her effort as she resumed her passive position, lying beneath Ron like an offering. 

 

She trusted him completely.  She was his.  All he had to do was take her.  Did he understand?  Ron searched her eyes as if looking for something.  Hermione wasn’t sure if he found it but his gaze moved on, boring into her chest and making her feel exposed. 

 

Even so, she kept her hands above her head.  She had the strange feeling that this was

some sort of test.  She just wasn’t sure which of them had devised it. 

 

Then, suddenly, a look of desperation crossed Ron’s face.  It passed so quickly Hermione almost missed it.  Then there was nothing but a blur of movement as he pounced.  His mouth swooped down and surrounded her nipple, leaving her no further time to contemplate his expression. 

 

Her back arched and Hermione moaned as Ron sucked, _hard_.  His hands, his … every part of him … he was everywhere at once.  She couldn’t keep track.  She couldn’t breathe.  One hand found its way behind her, sliding into the waistband of her jeans, under her knickers ... and _that_ she noticed. 

 

His warm hand clutched at the bare skin of her bum and … heavens, even after doing this for weeks it still brought a flush to Hermione’s cheeks.  But God, it felt good.   His mouth was still sucking, turning her bones to honey while he kneaded her bum and the other hand … dear God, Ron’s other hand was at the front of her jeans, working the buttons. 

 

Hermione could barely keep up with it all.  And she loved every second.

 

Throughout it all, Hermione kept her hands above her head, surprised at how comfortable she felt.  Her hands sometimes twitched with the need to touch a patch of skin or brush a lock of silky hair, but that need was nothing compared to the need to have Ron ravish her. 

 

And he was doing a _brilliant_ job of it.  She loved that all Ron needed was wordless sounds of encouragement to guide him.  Skill and talent combined, driving Hermione’s mind blissful numb, keeping her from thinking …

 

It kept Hermione from thinking about the fact that this wasn’t real.  Ron wasn’t hers … _wouldn’t_ be.  Not when the sun came up.  Ron hadn’t claimed her.  He claimed her body, but not _her_.  Whatever fragile construct they formed tonight would likely disappear with the sunrise.

 

No.  _No_.  Hermione didn’t want this.  She didn’t want to _think_.  She wanted … her passivity ended as her desperation reached its peak.  The need to stop the painful thoughts made her forget why she was being still. 

 

Grabbing his fiery locks, she pulled Ron’s head from her breast with a wet plop and yanked him to her violently.  Coming up onto an elbow, Hermione met Ron’s lips, kissing him with everything she had inside her.  Her kiss was an attack, punishment for every wrong he’d ever done her, every question he’d never asked, every confession he’d never made. 

 

And Ron took it.  Took it almost gratefully.  As if he somehow knew he was in the wrong, he let her kiss him with bruising fierceness.  His only retaliation was to assault her jeans as if they were his worst enemy.

 

There was no gentleness in Ron’s touch now.  He gripped her bare hips with a brutal touch as he hoisted them up to slide her jeans past her arse.  He hesitated when her knickers were yanked off, an unexpected casualty, and Hermione punished his indecisiveness with a sharp bite to his lip, hard enough that she tasted blood and he cried out.

 

But Ron didn’t hesitate again.  He broke away from the violent kiss to jerk her jeans off her feet.  Then he hauled her to knees, pulling her up by her shoulders and the nape of her neck to meet his aggressive kiss and press full-length against her.

 

Hermione was starkers against him.  Heavens, that happened quickly.  It _had_ been her intension, but it was a bit overwhelming.  She’d been this way before, of course. 

 

Though, it never happened quite this quickly before and, to be honest, she hadn’t been _completely_ starkers since the first time they’d done this. 

 

Instinctively, they had pulled back after their first intense encounter and turned to shoving clothing aside instead of stripping bare.  They had a silent understanding that it was safer this way.  Too much skin could lead things to unexpected places.  And they _knew_ they should never, _ever_ be starkers at the same time. 

 

But what would happen if they were?  Would that be _so_ bad? At the moment, Ron still had his jeans on, riding low on his hips as he knelt in front of her, so they were safe … for now.   Did she want to be safe? 

 

He sat back on his heels so they would be the same height, but it only made Hermione want to be closer.  She wasn’t sure whose idea it was, but before long she found herself on his lap, wrapping her legs around his hips.  She didn’t realize until she was there how intimate the position was now that she was starkers.  God, there was nothing between his jeans and her nether reasons. Oh dear.

 

Ron seemed to like their new position, clutching her bare bum and pulling her even closer, his talented tongue seducing her, keeping her pesky _thoughts_ at bay.  As Ron grinded their hips together Hermione quickly realized that the worn jeans that normally felt so soft and smooth chaffed her delicate skin and she couldn’t get the friction she needed. 

 

Refusing to give up his lips, Hermione’s frantic, clumsy hands wedged between their bodies, desperately trying to work the buttons of Ron’s jeans.  She shivered as her knuckles brushed against her own wet curls as she did so. 

 

Hermione still hadn’t come around to doing any of this to herself.  Who had the time? 

 

She spent every available second doing _this_ with Ron.  Maybe, she would have the opportunity once she was back at school and couldn’t … she whimpered and sucked harder on Ron’s tongue. 

 

She only managed to release one button before Ron roughly pushed her hand away, taking control again.  Right.  Of course.  Hermione had forgotten.  Ron was in control.

 

 That was the game they were playing.  And she liked this game.  Really, really liked it.  No need to switch now.

 

Ron managed to pull away the lower half of his body and yank off his jeans, while keeping their lips firmly sealed the entire time, snogging Hermione senseless.  Her fingers danced along the rigid muscles of his neck as he strained toward her.  God, how she loved this man. 

 

When he grabbed her thighs, pulling them around his hips once more, Hermione realized that he still had his boxer shorts on.  She didn’t know if she was disappointed or relieved at that.  Both, really.  Though, it was certainly best this way.  The way they were pressed together, if Ron wasn’t wearing his boxers … well, they’d practically be shagging.

 

Then Ron toppled her onto her back, pressing his hips into hers with a delicious rhythm, a slow circular grind.  His hand came between them to cup her breast and Hermione could feel his hard length pressed so tightly against her that it almost hurt.  But it felt so good and the fabric that separated them was so thin that she could _feel_ his heat.

 

Would it be so bad if they shagged?  And, God, with the drugging way that his mouth was seducing her, his skin and his hands and his hips and the pleasure … Hermione really, really wanted to.  She wanted _him_.

 

Hermione wanted Ron to be her first.  She wanted to be _his_ first.  Adrianna had said … oh God, that felt _so_ good … Adrianna had said that people usually fall in love with the first person they shag. 

 

It made sense.  The pleasure, the intimacy, the mutual trust.  If Hermione and Ron were to … _no_.  That would be so, _so_ wrong.  The mere thought was unacceptable.  But … but his thumb was circling her nipple and his tongue was dancing in her mouth and Hermione …

 

No, she wasn’t that desperate.  She wasn’t.  She wasn’t _that_ manipulative … _God_!  His hips caught a spot that made stars explode behind her eyelids.  She was moaning into her mouth now, pulling at his hair.

 

Hermione was.  She _was_ that desperate.  And Ron was so _close_ to being in love with her.  She knew it.  He just needed one final push.  It wouldn’t be so much tricking him into being in love with her as … _helping_ him fall in love with her.  Just as she’d been doing all summer long.

 

But, no!  She couldn’t.  Ron pinched both of her nipples at the same time and Hermione arched her back, her mouth falling away from his as she cried out. An almost frighteningly strong bolt of pleasure ran to her core, mingling with the already out-of-control fire.

 

When her eyes finally saw fit to focus again, they fell on the gorgeous man above her. 

 

Ron was out of breath, his hair rumpled and dripping with sweat.  Now, why was _sweat_

sexy?  Hermione pushed a strand away from his forehead, a brief moment of tenderness before yanking his mouth back to hers.

 

Mmm.  So damn good.  Maybe she _could_ ...  Her hand ran down his moist back to … maybe Hermione could just get rid of these pesky boxers. 

 

Slipping her hand under the elastic, Hermione reveled in the cool firm flesh, and brought her other hand to join the quest to remove the last piece of cloth obstructing them. 

 

Hermione loved his bum.  She loved how it felt when she cupped it in her hands and pulled him toward her … God.  Oh _God_! 

 

Breathless, Hermione broke their kiss again, gasping, “Ron.”

 

“’Mione,” he moaned.  She could feel the words against her cheek.  They turned into a sloppy kiss, then a gentle bite.  “God!  Love …”

 

Hermione closed her eyes at the word.  The question was, was she desperate enough to take that final step?  To push all the way?  Was she desperate enough to do _anything_ to have Ron use _that_ word and really mean it?

 

He trailed his lips down her neck and collar once again, then found Hermione’s nipple.  One large hand pressed against the small of her back and the other between her shoulder blades, arching her against him. 

 

“Oh God.  Oh God,” Hermione moaned, her head rolling back and forth on the bed.  Was he trying to kill her?  Drive the last bit of sanity from her head?  Because that’s what was happening.  She was losing all will to think and to … to do the right thing. 

 

There was only one clear thought left … boxers.  She needed them off.  _Now_.  With one hand, Hermione hooked her thumb over the edge of his pants, while the other traveled around to free his cock from the elastic, only to get distracted once she had the warm, firm flesh against her palm.

 

“ _Hermione_!”  Ron cried out, sending vibrations over the sensitive flesh of Hermione’s breast. 

 

Enjoying his reaction, she stroked his length from tip to base until Ron’s mouth fell from her nipple.  For a moment, all he seemed to be able to do was take great, gasping breaths, his forehead falling to rest on her breast.  Hermione resisted the urge to cradle his head against her.  She was on a mission. 

 

After several firm strokes of his lovely cock, Ron was too distracted to notice when she worked his boxers over his hips, using her feet to bring them down to his knees and over his ankles.  Once they were finally gone, Hermione curved her body into him, causing the head of his cock to come in contact with the smooth skin of her belly. 

_That_ he noticed.  Ron arched his hips away, giving a strangled cry, floundering.  He struggled to get to his elbows, looking down at her with confusion and shock. 

 

“Hermione?”

 

She didn’t answer.  She was too busy blocking his escape, trapping him with her legs, locking them around his waist.  Her hand continued to pump his cock, savoring the feel of it while robbing his will to resist.  The entire endeavor was rather difficult and Hermione wasn’t as coordinated as Ron, but it was worth it when she saw the fevered look in his eyes. 

 

Perhaps, she liked it when she was in control after all.  Or maybe Hermione was just beyond caring one way or another.  All she cared about now was the warm feel of Ron in her hand and the way his whole body strained toward her.

 

“Fuck … _Hermione_!” 

 

Clearly frantic now, Ron grabbed her hand, his grip firm enough to shock her and make her loosen her hold.  His cock fell from her hand.  But Hermione hadn’t wanted to let go and why was Ron pulling her legs from his waist?  She fought, wrestling him, groaning continuously, both from the effort and from the wickedly thrilling sensation of naked skin sliding against naked skin in the heat of battle.

 

Ron won, because, in the end, even though she gave it her all, he was stronger.  Hermione had finally found a game she enjoyed losing.  He pinned her to her bed, his arms locked, one hand on each of her wrists, trapping them on either side of her head while his legs pressed hers to the mattress.

 

“Fuck!” he gritted out, panting.

 

Hermione didn’t know what was wrong with her, but that struck her as hilariously funny.  She laughed breathlessly, teasing, “Language, Ron.” 

 

He growled in response.  God, she loved this.  Every bit of it.  The feeling of being pinned by Ron, bested by her best friend.  She loved the sensation of him against her and the shocked look on his face.  Hermione hadn’t realized it was possible to be _this_ aroused.          

 

But she needed more and the stupid git was struggling to keep his hips off of hers. 

 

Hermione could feel Ron’s legs tremble from the effort and the tip of his cock was twitching and bumping against her belly every time he breathed out.  She bit her lip, concentrating as she arched into him.  Her thoughts were simple now.  Need Ron.  Need contact.  Need it _now_.

 

Ron whimpered with every touch she succeeded in making.  His breathing harsh, he panted, “’Mione, what do you think you’re— _argh_!”

 

It seemed poor Ron’s cock was in league with her.  As Hermione arched up, it found its way between her legs, sliding against her slick folds.  Her eyes rolled back into her head at the sensation of their private bits coming into intimate contact for the first time.  Her legs instinctively clamped around him, trapping his length between her thighs. 

 

Ron fell from his hands to his elbows with a thud.  “God … Hermione … _God_ , what are …?”

So, _this_ was the reason for all the fuss about shagging.  It was rather wonderful.  Not that they were shagging.  Hermione wasn’t _that_ innocent.  She knew he had to be _inside_ for it to be shagging.  Instead, the length of his cock was nestled snuggly against her folds.  But, still it was absolutely _brilliant_. 

 

Hermione wiggled a bit, an experiment.  Ron yelped.  That was even better.  Wow.  If _this_ felt amazing, what would he feel like inside of her?  All he had to do was shift just a bit and …

 

“ _God_!”  Ron bit out, his teeth bared, he was struggling with himself.  Why was he doing that?  He should just let go.  Letting go was wonderful.  Really, it was.  “I can’t.  What …?  I need …” he stammered. 

 

Then he must have lost some sort of battle because his hips began to buck, his length sliding back and forth between her folds, coating her thighs and his cock with fluids.  They both moaned.  Hermione hadn’t known anything could feel so good.

 

She pressed up, into him, pleading, “God, Ron, more.  _Please_ , more.”

 

“Hermione ...” Ron practically sobbed.  “This is a bad idea.”  But he did it again and they both cried out.  But after that, he somehow managed to still his hips, his whole body shaking from the effort.  “Do you know how close we are to doing … to doing something you don’t want?”

 

Really, now.  Hermione knew Ron was thick, but this was utterly ridiculous.  She didn’t want this?  She wanted _this_ so badly she was quite possibly going to die if she didn’t get it.  She _needed_ Ron, needed him to claim her, claim her any way he wanted to, any way he would.  And God, it felt so incredibly good.

 

Hermione strained up capturing his lips once again, kissing him, long and slow and thorough.  Ron only gave a small whimper of protest before his lips and tongue fell in time with hers. He forgot to keep her hands pinned and she cupped his cheek.  After that, it was only moments before he gave in to several more wonderful slides of his length against her. 

 

It didn’t last nearly long enough before Ron tore his lips away, shaking his head madly. 

 

“Hermione, we need—”

 

“Ron”

 

“We need to stop before—”

 

“ _Ron_!”  Hermione interrupted, feeling surprisingly rational.  She grabbed his face, forcing him to meet her eyes.  “Make love to me.”

 

 

 

 

* * * * *


	43. Last Chance

They couldn’t go on like this, Practicing or whatever they were calling it these days.  Ron knew that he couldn’t continue to take advantage of his best friend, the girl he was most likely in love with.  It had to end.  He _knew_ that.  It killed him, but he knew.

 

This wasn’t an arrangement an honorable bloke carried on with in a gossip-hungry place like Hogwarts.  Well, it wasn’t something an honorable bloke did at all, but it was too late for that.  Ron could beat himself up until the hippogriffs came home, but it wasn’t going to change a thing. 

 

And besides, a month ago when he agreed to practice snogging with his best friend, how was he supposed to have know they’d end up nearly starkers in bed together on a nightly basis, Ron in love with her and Hermione, well, not.

 

There was no changing the past now, but he couldn’t allow it to go on.  Even if Hermione wanted it to, which … well, why would she?  At some point, she was going to want a real relationship.  If not with him then … it made him sick to even think about.  So, Ron was going to do the right thing for once.  Practicing had to end the moment they stepped onto that train. 

 

As much as he wanted this to go on forever, what if someone found out?  Could Ron really let Hermione’s reputation to be sullied like that?  And even if they could keep it secret, _he_ couldn’t go on like this.  Practicing had become a desperate act, almost sad.  To be with her in this way was wonderful, but knowing it couldn’t last … it killed him little more every day.

 

Fuck.  It just wasn’t fair.  He knew it had to end, but did it have to be so soon?  Why tomorrow?  Ron needed more time.  As selfish as it was, he honestly wished tomorrow would never come, that they could stay in this run down prison of a sanctuary forever.  If they never left Grimmauld Place, he wouldn’t have to worry about other blokes stealing Hermione away from him.

 

Ron avoided coming to their room that night.  He wasted what little time they had left, because he was too much of a coward to face their last night together.  Shite, it was their _last_ night.  What was he going to do?  To say?  Would Hermione want to end things _before_ they left?  Would she want to Practice as much as they could, one last time? 

 

Or maybe she was planning on continuing this indefinitely.  In a strange way, that was the scariest option.  How was Ron going to find the strength to stop this if she wanted to keep it going?

 

But what Ron didn’t expect was to find Hermione crying in their bedroom and he couldn’t, for the life of him, figure out why.  Had it finally sunk in, the things that they had done together?  Were they guilty, regretful tears?  Or were they sad tears?  Mournful tears?  Did she realize this was the end as well?  Did it hurt her as much as it hurt him?  No … no, _that_ wasn’t possible. 

 

But when Hermione finally admitted that she didn’t want to go back to school, _Hermione_ , who _loved_ school, Ron lost his head.  He asked her what he could do to make it better, praying that she’d ask for him.  In one desperate moment, he practically begged her to ask for a real relationship.  He wasn’t being selfish if she _asked_ for it. 

 

But that wasn’t what she wanted.  If Hermione wanted a relationship with him, she would have asked.  It wasn’t as though she was timid about her wants and desires.  She’d say something, especially after Ron gave her an opening like that.  True, he never spelled things out explicitly, but as brilliant as Hermione was, she must have understood.  If that’s what she wanted, she _would_ have understood.

 

But rejected or not, when Hermione kissed him, all Ron wanted was for to last forever.  When he kissed her, he didn’t remember all the bad stuff.  He forgot to think, forgot tomorrow.  Maybe they could just stay there, on the window seat, and let the train leave without them. 

 

Ron almost didn’t want it to progress.  The other stuff they did together in his bed, it wasn’t as special as the kissing.  This wasn’t even snogging this was … aw, bloody hell!  When had he turned into such a Goddamn girl?

 

But then Hermione whispered, with that sexy voice she rarely used, “Ron, take me to bed.” 

 

After that, stopping at a nice snog became an impossibility, even if Hermione _didn’t_ mean it the way it sounded (and how could she?).  But, fuck, it was sexy, and she was so damn beautiful.  Were girls supposed to look so pretty when they cried?  Maybe Hermione was special, because it made her eyes shine and turned her cheeks a lovely shade of pink.  Or maybe Ron just had it _that_ bad.

 

Somewhere between Hermione pulling off his shirt and Ron tumbling her onto the bed, a horrible thought occurred to him.  What if all she wanted him for was his body?  It seemed ridiculous at first, for God’s sake this _was_ Hermione, but, bloody hell, what else could this be?  If she wasn’t in love with him and if she didn’t _just_ want his body, then what the hell was she doing?

 

Shite!  What was he thinking?  He really _had_ became a girl.  Hermione had turned him into a girl.  Blokes didn’t care if a witch used them for their body, especially not _mid_ -snog.  They were glad for it.  _Glad_.  Maybe if Ron started acting more like a man and less like a ponce, she might actually want to do more than Practice with him.

 

Ron took control then.  He even went so far as to demand that Hermione take off her own bra, just so he could show that he wasn’t the weak one in this relationship, just to prove … God, he didn’t know what he was trying to prove.  Maybe he was trying to punish her for not needing him enough?  Maybe, in the darkest part of his subconscious, he even wanted to humiliate her.

 

But she wasn’t humiliated.  Hermione didn’t balk or tell him to go to hell or even laugh when Ron made his demand.  She obeyed him.  Eagerly.  As though it actually turned her on to be told what to do.  Didn’t Hermione like being the one in control?  Wasn’t she the strong one? 

 

But watching Hermione scramble to pull off that bra, it showed she had a trust in him, a confidence. It made Ron feel powerful, it made him feel masculine, and so Goddamn aroused he thought he was going to explode.

 

Hermione laid herself out in front of him, fantastically gorgeous with her beautiful breasts and her hair wild the way it should be.  To see a witch as strong and competent as Hermione chose to be. What the _fuck_ did she think she was doing?  Didn’t she know she was playing with fire?  Didn’t she realize how desperate he was?  How much he wanted her? 

 

Ron had this awful feeling that things were going to go too far.  This was rapidly spiraling out of control and he had no idea how he was going to stop it.  And from the look on Hermione’s face, she had no intention of slowing _anything_ down.

                       

He should have pulled away at that point.  He should have done something, _anything_ , to change the course they were on.  But instead, Ron let his base instincts take over.  His actions became rough, which only seemed to spur Hermione on.  And the rapid spiral became a cyclone.

 

The possessive, needy, _randy_ sixteen-year-old in him took charge and then … and then Hermione was starkers.  Her bare skin was pressed against him and it was amazing and brilliant and _so_ dangerous.  She was rubbing against him.  It was all too much.  Ron couldn’t form a rational thought.  How was a bloke to _think_? 

 

Then Ron’s jeans were gone as well, long before he made the decision to take them off, and there was nothing but his thin boxers between them.  Hermione was on her back and he was on top of her and it was about as wrong as something could get. 

 

Ron _needed_ to stop this.  A few minutes more and they’d be shagging.  He told himself just today that he wouldn’t let Practice go any further, but then he had his hands on her beautiful breasts and he couldn’t remember why he would make such a daft decision.

 

Yet, he had to remember.  Ron had to remove his hips from the den of temptation masquerading as heaven, also known as that soft warm _wonderful_ place between

Hermione’s thighs now nestled snuggly against his cloth-covered cock.  He needed to touch her, from a safe distance, make her come, and bring this to its conclusion.  Before he went _completely_ mad.

 

Then her hands were down his boxers and it was a one-way trip to St. Mungo’s ward for the mentally infirm for Ron.  She pulled him even further into her and fireworks exploded inside his head.  He could actually feel her heat and, _Goddamn_ , her dampness through his pants, against his cock.

 

She broke the kiss, moaning, “ _Ron_.”  And, God, it sounded as if Hermione enjoyed the feeling as much as he did. 

 

Ron wasn’t going to survive without this.  The further it went, the worse it was going to be when it was all gone, when they had to stop … and it was rapidly becoming _impossible_ to stop.  He tried to warn her, but only nonsense came out of his mouth. 

 

“’Mione … God!  Love …” 

_Love_.  Saying that word aloud made him pause, cleared his head a bit.  Funny, he’d called her that dozens of times, but was this the first time he actually meant it? 

 

What was he doing?  Ron needed to change the direction this was going in.  This wasn’t right.  How could he say he cared about her and let this happen? 

 

Somehow, Ron found the strength to lift his hips from hers, distracting Hermione by running kisses over her fantastic breasts.  He needed to shift the focus and finish this before it went somewhere they could never come back from.

 

But fate, and Hermione, it seemed, were conspiring against him.  Her hand caught him unawares, wrapping around his cock.  And that was the end.  He couldn’t think.  He couldn’t breathe.  All he saw was flashing lights and all he felt was her.  Ron cried out, “ _Hermione_!” and his mouth fell from her breast as he collapsed on top of her, gasping.

Was it normal for a girl to have _this_ much power over a bloke?  Was Ron abnormally weak?  Shouldn’t he be able to … Goddamn _fuck_!  Holy … What the …?

 

Hermione arched into him and Ron could not only feel the firm pressure of her hand pumping his cock but the smooth skin of her belly against its head.  Nothing had ever … then he felt cool air on his arse.  Oh God, when had they _both_ become starkers.  How could he have missed something as significant as losing his underpants?  This was _so_ not good.

 

Ron struggled up onto his elbows, which really wasn’t far away enough, but the best he could do.  He tried to focus on Hermione’s face, riddle out what she was thinking, but the only thing clear in her expression was bliss.  Bliss and intense concentration.  What was she concentrating _on_?  What was she _trying_ to do?  Didn’t she know what was happening?  What she was doing to him?

 

“Hermione?” he asked, hoping for … he wasn’t sure.  An explanation, maybe.  Some sign of the rational girl he knew.  What Ron certainly was _not_ looking for was her to wrap her legs around his waist and pull him even closer, all the while never letting go of his cock.  God, she was _fantastic_.  The feel of it!  “Fuck … Hermione!”  

 

She needed to let go.  Why wouldn’t she let go?  Frantically, Ron grabbed Hermione’s hand, yanking it away from his cock with no small amount of personal discomfort.  Now he just needed to get his hips out of the danger zone, needed to get her legs to let go of their vice grip.  Why was Hermione fighting him like this? 

 

Desperate, Ron struggled to untangle them and she countered every move, _tangling_ them even further.  Somewhere along the way it became less about him breaking away and more of a sexy wrestling match.  And, if possible, it just made his poor tortured cock harder. 

 

Ron finally managed to pin her beneath him.  But, instead of relief, he felt disgustingly proud and masculine, which didn’t serve to help matters one tiny bit.  “Fuck!” he gasped, confused and unsure what to do next.

 

A breathless chuckle rang out below him.  “Language, Ron.”

 

God, she was teasing him.  Hermione was pinned beneath him and instead of being outraged and trying to free herself, she smiled up at him with a sultry … _sultry_ look on her face _, teasing_ him.  Ron growled.  She was so fucking enticing.  How was he supposed do the right thing? 

 

Hermione was supposed to be the rational one, he deferred to _her_ good judgment.  Ron really didn’t have it in him to fight her like this.  Then, just when Ron didn’t think he could handle any more, she arched into him, rubbing her firm, soft, _starkers_ body over his weeping cock. 

 

Shite!  Did she want him to fuck her right here, right now? “’Mione, what do you think you’re—argh!”

 

Oh God.  Oh fuck!  Ron had _never_ felt anything quite like _this_.  It was … it was heaven.  His cock slid against Hermione’s slick curls, straight back, between her folds.  For a moment, he thought it would slip inside of her without even waiting for permission, but it kept sliding until his full length was pressed against her folds and, _crap_ , it was brilliant!

 

Shite … shite … she squeezed her thighs around him.  Damn, Hermione was brilliant and wonderful … fantastic ... perfect … and utterly insane.  _What_ was she doing?  “God … Hermione … God, what are …?” 

 

She didn’t answer.  She just kept moving those deliciously round hips, driving Ron around the bend.  Is this what shagging felt like?  It couldn’t possibly be any _better_.  Fuck, he wanted … he needed … he wanted to be inside Hermione so badly.

No.  Stop.  Ron had to stop thinking this way.  He needed to control himself.  He couldn’t _shag_ Hermione.  He _wouldn’t_.  But if she didn’t stop moving her hips he had no idea what was going to happen.

 

“God!  I can’t.  What …?  I need …” he stammered.  He couldn’t get his mouth to form the words he needed to say.  Hermione wouldn’t stop and Ron lost the fragile grip of control he had over his body and his hips bucked in time with hers.  Brilliant.  So fucking brilliant.  Oh dear God …

 

 Hermione keened, pleading, “God, Ron, more.  Please, _more_.”

 

More?  She _was_ metal.  Seriously.  “Hermione, this is a bad idea,” Ron managed to gasp, proud that he’s actually formed a sentence, even if it was a short one.

 

It took every bit of strength inside him to get his hips to stop moving.  His entire body protested, his muscles quivering as he battled his natural drives.  But somehow, Ron _did_ stop. 

 

Now he just needed to explain.  Hermione needed to understand what she was doing to him.  She couldn’t _possibly_ understand or she wouldn’t be doing this.  Closing his eyes tightly, Ron imagined the regret and horror on her face he would undoubtedly see in the morning should this continue.  This gave him the strength he needed to say, “Do you know how close we are to doing … to doing something you don’t want?”

 

Ron really thought that would bring Hermione to her senses.  But the way this night was going, he should have known better.  What did the barmy girl do?  Not come to her senses.  Not talk to him like the extremely rational witch she usually was.  No, she kissed him, slowly and with so much skill he couldn’t possibly resist.  He _was_ in love with her, after all.

 

Before Ron knew what was happening, he was kissing her back and their hips were moving together.  God, he was weak and Hermione was so wet.  Did she understand that he might _accidentally_ slip inside of her?  Did she understand how much he wanted that to happen?  Accidental shagging.  It was madness.

 

“Hermione, we need …” he tried again.  The pleasure was too much.  Ron was getting delirious.  Babbling, he managed to get out, “We need to stop before—”

“Ron.” 

 

Oh God.  Oh God, he needed to get his hips away from her.  Ron was in serious danger of— 

 

“ _Ron_!” 

 

He didn’t realize that she was trying to get his attention until Hermione grabbed his face, forcing him to meet her eyes.  Then a phrase Ron never thought he would hear grace her lips spilled out, “Make love to me.”

 

Ron froze, became utterly unnaturally still.  He thought perhaps the world around him stopped.  He … she … Hermione … she asked him to make love to her?

 

It wasn’t just the intent that baffled him either.  She hadn’t said she wanted to _shag_ … she’d said … she asked him to make _love_ to her.  It made his heart twist painfully in his chest.  Did she understand what she was saying?

 

This wasn’t happening.  Fate couldn’t be this cruel.  Hermione just wouldn’t say _that_.  He was hallucinating.  He had to be.  It was just too … _impossible_.  It took a minute, but Ron managed to make his mouth move and he forced himself to ask, “What did you say?”

Ron didn’t know what he expected.  His mind really wasn’t working that far in advance, but Hermione shocked him again, smiling that gorgeous _sexy_ smile, and saying so slowly that it was impossible to misunderstand, “Make love to me.” 

 

And then to punctuate her intent, as if she needed to, Hermione moved her hips in that unmistakable rhythm.  Ok.  So Ron wasn’t hallucinating.  He wasn’t crazy.  Hermione was. 

 

Groaning as her movements sent a shudder throughout his body, Ron made himself grab her hips and hold them still.  “Hermione, will you stop that for one God _damn_ minute.”  He couldn’t think when she did that. 

 

Ok.  Ok.  Now he just needed to free himself from between her—argh!  Hermione gripped her legs tighter around his cock and he couldn’t get free.  She was trying to kill him.  There was no other explanation. 

 

All right.  He’d just hold still while he convinced Hermione that she needed to let him go.  Yeah.  _Right_.  He was supposed to have a conversation _now_?  But he didn’t have much of a choice, did he?  Between clenched teeth, Ron tried to reason with her, “Hermione, you don’t know what you’re saying.”

 

At last, that seductive look left Hermione’s face, leaving one of irritation.  Finally, something familiar.  “Ron, I’m not _that_ innocent.” 

 

Not anymore she wasn’t.  Not thanks to Ron.  He needed to get free.  But Hermione continued, murmuring, “I want this.”  Oh, God not _that_ voice again.  He could feel it straight to his cock.  “Please, Ron.”

 

She needed to stop doing this to him.  Ron shook his head, trying to block out her words, wishing they’d go away.  “We can’t …” he insisted.  “We—”

 

Hermione sighed.  “I’m on a contraception potion if that’s what you’re worried about.  Adrianna showed us how to make—”

 

“What!”  Why?  Why would Adrianna show …? Why would Hermione …? “Why the _hell_ do you need a contraception potion?”

 

Hermione actually rolled her eyes.  She was now lying starkers beneath him, his cock trapped between her thighs, and she was rolling her eyes at him.  This wasn’t happening.  “I dunno, Ron.  Circumstances like this, maybe.”

 

Circumstances like this?  Was Hermione planning on these particular circumstances occurring between them?  Worse yet, was she planning on these _circumstances_ with someone else?  For a moment, white hot rage blocked out everything else and Ron was tempted to go right ahead and take her virginity, just so no one else could.  Just so it would always be _his_.

 

“Ron,” Hermione whispered, reaching up to touch his cheek, “stop thinking so much.  It was just a precaution.  I’m not planning on becoming the whore of Hogwarts.”

 

His stomach clenched at the mere idea of it.  “This isn’t a joke, Hermione,” he bit out.  She didn’t seem to get it.  She was practically offering to be his whore now.  If she didn’t love him and she didn’t know how Ron felt about her, then isn’t that what this would be.  It wouldn’t be _making love_.  Not for her. 

 

This made no sense.  Nothing about this fit what Ron _knew_ about Hermione.  Why would she even suggest such a thing?

 

Hermione leaned up, kissing him, and murmuring against his lips, “Ron … Ron, we could—”

 

“No!” Ron snapped, cutting her off.  “No, Hermione.  No.  I’m not taking your virginity.  Not like this.”

 

 His words were harsh, but they were meant to be.  For him.  Ron was reprimanding himself, reminding himself that this _couldn’t_ happen.  It gave him the strength to finally roll off her.  It must have shocked Hermione, because her thighs loosened and, for once, she didn’t fight him.

 

Once he was no longer touching her, Ron threw an arm over his eyes and concentrated on clearing his mind.  He was sweating and panting from the monumental effort it took to disengage from her.  Pathetic, really.  Even worse, his treacherous cock stood upright and throbbing, seeming to not understand the wisdom of his decision.

 

What if Ron had taken Hermione up on her offer?  All he would have had to do was shift a tiny bit and he would have sunk inside her softness.  She would have been so tight and warm.  He would have been completely enveloped in Hermione.  But then what?  Never do it again?  Be her fuck-mate until someone better came along?  Why would _his_ Hermione even suggest such a thing?

 

It kept coming back to the same thing.  This went against everything Ron knew about her.  Maybe she really did just want him for his body.  Maybe he was just someone to give her pleasure.  Or maybe, just maybe, she actually felt for him what he felt for her.

 

Ron’s chest tightened at the thought.  It wasn’t _such_ a crazy idea, not given how she’d been acting.  Just because Hermione _shouldn’t_ fall in love with him, just because it wouldn’t last, didn’t mean that it _couldn’t_ happen. 

 

His arm fell away and his eyes were drawn back to her … aw shite.  Hermione was curled up in a ball, her back to him, huddled as far away as she could get in a bed that suddenly seemed monstrously large.  Now Ron had _really_ fucked everything up. 

 

Crawling over to her, he realized she was crying again.  What was he thinking talking to her like that?  Saying those things?  And then just rolling away and saying nothing at all?  He was an insensitive sod.  Ron needed to fix this. 

 

He reached for her.  “Hermione?” 

 

She flinched, shrinking away from his touch.  _Shite_.  Well, Ron supposed he deserved that.  He moved closer anyway, watching Hermione sniffle and angrily swipe at her cheeks.  Her eyes were tightly closed and she was still starkers.  They both were.  He hoped she wasn’t cold.

 

“Hermione?” Ron tried again.

 

She shook her head, the gesture seeming a bit wild and out of control.  “It’s all right,” Hermione insisted, clearing her throat and plainly doing her best to sound calm, though her voice trembled and she wouldn’t look at him.  “I understand.  You don’t have to … if you don’t want me—”

 

“No!  _No_ … It’s not that …” Great.  What did Ron expect her to think after the way he just rolled away from her?  They’d been an inch away from shagging?  What kind of bloke turns down an offer like that from a beautiful girl?  Poofs and idiots, that’s who.  Cowards and blokes who are so in love they can’t see straight. 

 

Ignoring her whimpered protests, Ron pulled Hermione against him, curling one arm gently under her head and across her chest, cupping her shoulder and cushioning her head with his bicep.  The palm of his other hand flattened against her belly, pulling her back against his front.  Burying his face in her hair, he rubbed what he hopped were soothing circles over her soft skin. 

 

Hermione let out a small sob, which was not _exactly_ the response Ron was hoping for.  “It’s all right,” she insisted shakily.  “Really.  You didn’t have to.  If you don’t think I’m attractive—”

 

“ _Hermione_ , don’t be stupid!”  Ron didn’t mean to snap, but, Goddamn it, they’d been over this shite.  “Don’t even … you _know_ that’s not true.”

 

Sniffling, Hermione relaxed just the slightest bit.  “Then why don’t you want to?”

 

Ron rolled his eyes.  Girls were so mental.  “I _want_ to, Hermione.  God, I _want_ to.”

 

Hermione shook her head, telling Ron that she didn’t believe him.  This was ridiculous.  Had she been in the same room as him?  Did she pay attention when he was gasping and moaning on top of her?  He was beginning to get annoyed. 

 

Holding her tightly, Ron pushed his still very hard erection into her arse until she gasped.  “You feel that?  Does it _feel_ like I don’t want you?” 

           

She whimpered and shook her head.  Hermione finally seemed to get the message and relaxed back against him, her hand falling lightly on his forearm, holding it across her chest. 

 

Brilliant, Ron had managed to calm Hermione but, of course, in doing so also succeeded in making his cock throb again.  Now what?  He couldn’t pull back or he’d insult her.  How did he get himself in these situations?  All he _really_ wanted was to bury himself inside her.  Couldn’t she see that he was sick?

 

“Then why did you stop?” she asked after a moment.

 

“Shite, Hermione, what kind of bloke do you think I am?”  She was smarter than these questions.  “Do you really think I’d be such a prick as to take your virginity like _this_?” 

 

Ron knew he was using obscenities, but he really didn’t care.  Part of him was starting to get angry with her for putting him in this impossible situation.  Didn’t she see it was hurting him?

 

Hermione ignored his swearing, saying instead, “But … but I want to.”

She _was_ trying to kill him.  “Hermione—” Ron whimpered. 

           

“But you said you’d do anything—”

 

“ _Hermione_!”  _This_ is what she asked of him.  Was Ron supposed to confess that he hoped she would ask for something a little deeper than shagging?  To give him an excuse to be selfish and take what he really wanted, which may actually include shagging, but not for just one night.  “I’m not going to do something that I know will hurt you.  Don’t ask me to.  _Please_.”

 

Sighing deeply, Hermione fell silent.  It didn’t last, though, and soon she was arguing softly, “It won’t hurt me.”

 

She _was_ innocent.  “It will,” Ron insisted.  “Eventually, it will.  If we do this, in this way … Practicing, or whatever bollocks we’re calling it now, you’ll regret it and I can’t … I don’t want you to regret anything that happens between us.”  That was the understatement of century.  It would tear him to pieces.

 

Her hands wrapped around his arms, holding them to her tightly as her sniffles turned to full out weeping.  “I _don’t_.  I don’t regret anything.”

 

Shite, now _he_ was getting teary.  Ron felt disgustingly vulnerable and he hated it.  Pressing his face into Hermione’s curls, he nuzzled until he found skin.  When he could taste the salty expanse of her shoulder, he pleaded, “Ask me for something else.  Please.  Give me something I can do.”  Please, just ask for _him_.

 

But she didn’t.  Hermione just whimpered and shook her head, hugging his arms and pressing back into him.  Ron let out a long slow breath.  Breathing in her scent, he whispered into her ear, “Then let me show you how much I want you.”

 

Running the flat of his hand down her belly, Ron brought his fingertips to her moist curls.  At least one of them wouldn’t go to sleep frustrated tonight.  God, she was so wet.  He could still _feel_ her against his cock.

 

“You don’t have to,” Hermione protested softly, her breath hitching as her fingertips traced his arms, leaving goose bumps.

 

“Shh.  I want to,” Ron pressed his hard length into the crease of her arse, “remember.” 

Her arse didn’t feel quite as good as that other place, but it was still bloody brilliant.  Though, not _so_ good that Ron couldn’t string a thought together, which was essential if he wanted to survive until morning.

 

Hermione seemed about to protest again, so Ron moved his unoccupied hand from her shoulder to her cheek, gently turning her face to his.  Kissing her softly, he waited for the light brush of lips that showed she was responding.  Then he let go of her face to trace the length of her neck, his hand finally coming to rest over the curve of her breast.

 

She moaned into his mouth.  That was the signal he was waiting for.  His fingertips easily found her clitoris.  Practice came in handy sometimes.  With the barest of pressure, Ron worked circles over Hermione’s flesh. 

 

Almost immediately, she gasped.  Arching her back, her lips fell from his as she cried, “ _Ron_.”

 

“Shh,” he soothed, placing slow, lingering kisses over her shoulder, savoring her.

 

The thumb on her breast moved softly over her skin, more to calm then to seduce.  This was about comfort now, not passion.  But then Hermione’s hips bucked against him, causing a shock of pleasure as her arse rubbed against Ron’s cock.  Well, maybe it was a little bit about passion.  But _more_ about comfort.  Comfort and closeness.  He was going to miss this.

 

Ron carefully cataloged her reactions, the way her face shifted and scrunched up, then smoothed out with the waves of pleasure.  It came on more slowly this time, but soon Hermione was moaning continuously and her hips found that instinctual rhythm, rubbing back against him with every stroke of his fingers. 

 

It felt so good that Ron couldn’t help but let a few moans of his own escape against her shoulder.  Hermione must have taken this as encouragement.  The rocking of her hips became more purposeful and she reached behind her to thread her hands into his hair, holding him to her as she pushed that sweet arse against his cock, driving him wild. 

 

All the while, Hermione made those fantastic little mewling noises.  As the sounds accelerated so did his hand.  Too soon, Ron was panting and bucking against her.  It was too much.  His mind was clouding again.  He needed to … he started to pull back.

 

“No!” Hermione cried sharply, her hand flying from Ron’s hair to his arse, her fingernails digging into him, holding him to her and making him groan.  “Come with me,” she whimpered.

 

“God, Hermione!”  The things that came out of her mouth.  Sweet innocent Hermione.  No one would believe him.  Not that Ron planned on sharing.

 

“ _Please_.” 

 

Ron gave up.  He didn’t have the will to protest any longer.  This he could give her.  Gladly.  Resting his hips where Hermione seemed to want them, he doubled his efforts.  Slipping a finger inside her, he allowed his thumb to take over the rhythm.  Her hips were now pushing against him roughly and he allowed himself to push back with equal fervor.

 

Fuck, it was amazing.  He loved her so much.  He just needed to wait for her.  Just a minute more.  Just … his thumb pressed harder and Hermione cried out sharply.  Ron smiled into her skin.  That’s his girl.  Her nails dug into his arse and arm as she stiffened and finally went limp.

 

Thank God.  Ron let himself go, grinding himself into her bum with everything he had.  Once, twice … That’s all it took.  His mind went blank as the spectacular pleasure pulsed through his body.  He loved her … loved her so much.

 

“’Mione,” he moaned.  Actually it was a whimper, but that wasn’t very manly, so he’d pretend it was a moan.  He needed the pretense, because when it was over he was left clutching her and gasping, feeling ridiculously vulnerable, without even the strength to grab his wand and clean off the sticky mess he’d made. 

 

But when he finally did reach for it, Hermione’s hands closed over his arm, her grip unexpectedly strong and frantic.  “Don’t go.”

 

Hermione sounded as vulnerable as he felt and it helped him relax against her.  Kissing her hair, Ron explained softly, “I’m just going to get my wand.  Clean us—”

 

“Don’t,” Hermione insisted, a bit harshly.  “I … it’s fine.  Really.”

 

“Her—”

 

She turned over so fast Ron was caught by surprise.  Hermione wrapped her arms around his chest, hugging him hard, stealing his breath.  “Just don’t,” she repeated, nestling her head under his chin and rubbing her face against his chest.

 

Something about the gesture made Ron’s throat thick, but all he could do was hug her back.  He couldn’t even see her face for the riot of unkempt curls.  Stickiness was now smeared on both her belly and arse.  It couldn’t be very comfortable and it would be even worse when it dried, but Hermione wouldn’t let go.

 

Ron would just have to wait until she fell asleep and then clean it off.  He knew he wouldn’t get much rest anyway.  Not that he wanted to.  He wanted to memorize every second of how this felt.  If it felt this good when they were only Practicing, how would it feel if they were really a couple? 

 

He really was a glutton for punishment, because Ron just couldn’t stop himself from asking one last time, “Hermione, are you sure there’s nothing I can do for you?  Nothing I can give you?”  Please.  Please. 

 

Hermione gave a teary laugh.  “Can you make tomorrow never come?”

 

No.  Actually, he couldn’t.  No matter how much he would like to.  No, once again, Ron was completely incapable of giving Hermione what she wanted and he had nothing she wanted to give.

 

 

* * * * *

 

 

 

Harry awoke to the distinctly unpleasant sensation of multiple sharp knives piercing his scull.  He cracked his eyes open to see exactly who was trying to murder him in his sleep only to find there were no knives.  It was only the sunlight causing the blinding pain and closing his eyes didn’t help matters either.  Bloody hell. 

 

His head ached and his body throbbed and, in that moment, he actually wished someone _was_ murdering him.  At least then, there would be an end in sight.  The sunlight produced a glare on his glasses, making it difficult for Harry to see, and they pinched his nose painfully.  Shite.  Why had he fallen asleep with his glasses on, anyway?  Maybe someone knocked him unconscious.  That would explain a _lot_.

 

Turning his face into his pillow to escape the bright light, Harry was met with the rather unpleasant smell of … old things.  He jerked back only to breathe in a lungful of dust as his pillow produced a great gray cloud.  It was the resulting coughing fit that sent Harry upright in his bed.  Something rolled off his chest and fell to the floor with a surprisingly loud bang. 

 

What the hell was that?  He blinked his eyes against the lingering dust.  Oh, wait.  This wasn’t his bed.  This wasn’t a _bed_ at all.  It was … a sofa?  Oh _shite_.  Harry squeezed his eyes shut against the rush of memories.  Oh God.  Please, let it be a dream.  It had to have been a dream. 

 

There was no way he’d _actually_ had a drunken snogging session with _Ginny_ in the Black library.  It was just too improbable to be true.  It was just a dream.  He was going to open up his eyes and it was all going to have been _just_ a dream.  Holding himself rigid, Harry carefully lifted his eyelids.  Please.  Please.  _Fuck_. 

 

His eyes focused first on the ugly brown carpet and then the empty wine bottle lying at his feet.  It wasn’t empty because it spilled.  No, after Ginny left, Harry had drank every last drop.  Shite.  Of course, he had a headache.  What did he expect?

 

What the hell was wrong with him?  He had kissed another bloke’s girl.  A bloke, who until recently, Harry had called a friend.  Well, that was over, wasn’t it?  It would be a miracle if he could ever call Dean _or_ Ginny friend again. 

 

Harry was _such_ an arsehole.  And to make matters worse, Ginny had just started talking to him again when he had thrown it away all away with one stupid selfish impulse.  Well, was it worth it?

 

God, that question shouldn’t be so hard to answer.  It should be obvious.  But the thing was, this wasn’t any girl.  This was Ginny and the kiss … the kiss had been absolutely _brilliant_.  Kissing her was everything Harry had always imagined a snog should be.  The kind of snog a bloke would gladly get detention for.  Or go to war over.

 

Ginny was a better kisser than he could’ve possibly imagined, teaching him things he had only fantasized about.  And, God help him, all Harry wanted was to do it again.  And he was _never_ going to get to do it again.

 

With a loud groan, Harry fell back against the wretched sofa.  Brilliant, absolutely brilliant.  What did he really think he was going to accomplish by kissing her?  Oh, he remembered his daft rationale quite clearly.  He hadn’t wanted to go to his grave having never kissed Ginny. 

 

Well, great.  Now, he’d kissed her.  Did he really think he was going to be content with _one_ snog?  That it wouldn’t make it worse, knowing what he was missing?  He was easily the stupidest git in Britain.  And Ginny was very likely never going to speak to him again. 

 

No, it wasn’t worth it.  It wasn’t worth it at all.  Pulling of his glasses, Harry pressed his fingers against his eyelids, trying to block out the image of her face when she finally pulled away from him. 

 

It wasn’t fair.  Weren’t people supposed to forget what happened when they got pissed?  But no, Harry had the hangover _and_ the memories.  All he could see was Ginny, stricken and furious, flushed and gorgeous.  And that was _before_ the tears came. 

 

That’s what kissing Harry did to girls.  It made them cry.  Only this time, Harry wasn’t just uncomfortable and self-conscious and Ginny hadn’t _just_ cried.  She wept great heartbroken sobs that tore his insides to shreds. 

 

It didn’t even make any sense.  Why would she cry like _that_?  Even if he _was_ rubbish at it.  He could understand anger or embarrassment or even _disgust_ , but despair?  Why would his kiss cause despair?  Especially, given the fact that Ginny had bloody well kissed him back!  And with no little enthusiasm either.  Girls were complete nutters.  That was the only explanation Harry could come up with.

 

But maybe Ginny was upset that she had cheated on Dean.  And that’s what it was.  Cheating.  When he had kissed her, that was just Harry being a drunken prick, but when she shoved her tongue into his mouth _that_ was cheating.  And fuck, why did the mere thought of it give him a rush of pride.

 

Shite.  What was wrong with him?  Stupid.  Stupid.  Stupid.  Harry had decided that he couldn’t be with Ginny no matter _what_ the circumstances and now he was sitting there, fighting nausea and the headache from hell, glad that Ginny had cheated on her boyfriend and hoping that somehow Dean found out about it and chucked her.  When had Harry become a complete wanker?

 

Suddenly, he wished there was still wine in that bottle.  Not that drinking had done Harry one bit of good.  What had it got him?  A crick in his neck from having passed out on the sofa, a wine stained shirt, and a massive hangover to deal with on the way to school …

 

Fuck.  School.  Hogwarts.  It was September first and Harry had to be at the train station at precisely eleven o’clock and judging by the bright sunlight that had so rudely awoken him … Goddamn, he was _so_ late.  Adrianna was going to kill him. 

 

Hey.  Where _was_ Adrianna?  Where was everyone?  Why hadn’t anyone woken him up?  They wouldn’t have left without him.  Would they?

 

Harry forcibly pushed aside his aches and pains as he quickly rushed out of the library and down the stairs to his room.  It was eerily quiet in the house.  No one was about, which was _not_ a good sign. 

 

Nor was the fact that his trunk and Hedwig’s cage, which he had left outside his door to be taken to the train station, was already gone.  Mr. and Mrs. Weasley must have all ready left with the luggage.  But surely someone was still here.  They wouldn’t have _left_ him.  He couldn’t have been forgotten.  It was ridiculous to even entertain the thought. 

 

But old insecurities had surfaced and Harry felt oddly like the only person on the planet.  It made his heartbeat quicken and pound in his ears.  What if they looked but couldn’t find him?  Maybe Ginny didn’t tell them where he was because she didn’t want him to go back to school with her.  Maybe they didn’t even notice he was missing.

 

Hermione and Ron weren’t in the room when he got there and the beds had been turned back to the old single ones that were there at the beginning of the summer.  It was as if no one had been there at all.  Maybe Harry hadn’t woken up.  Maybe this was a nightmare.  Maybe he was being punished. 

 

Quickly, Harry turned to the door.  He’d just run downstairs.  Maybe they were still—

 

“Oof,” Ron grunted as Harry’s shoulder collided with his chest.  “Where are you off to?”

Harry stumbled back, staring at Ron with wide eyes.  He almost laughed in relief.  God, what a stupid prat he was, throwing himself into a right state.  “Um … loo.  Shower,” he stammered, hoping Ron wouldn’t realize he was running around the house like a headless Hippogriff, thinking he’d been abandoned. 

 

Ron raised an eyebrow.  “Not if you fancy living, you won’t.  Adrianna’s going spare downstairs.  She wants you there, as in _yesterday_.  Told me to drag you down by your toenails if necessary.”

 

Right.  Of course she was angry.  That was what he thought would happen, _before_ his little trip around the twist.  Harry collapsed on the side of the bed, pressing his fingers to his temples. 

 

The relief that everyone was still there and looking for him was quickly replaced with dread.  Now he had to face them after getting drunk, oversleeping, and making everyone else late.  Crap.  Adrianna “going spare” was not a pleasant image and not something he had the strength to deal with.

 

Though, she was far from the person Harry _most_ dreaded seeing.  He looked up at Ron, asking warily, “Um … everyone else is down stairs, then?”  Ron nodded tiredly, leaning his head against the doorframe.  He looked like shite, but _he_ still managed to get up on time.  “Ginny as well?”

 

“Generally, she counts as everybody,” Ron remarked dryly, barely managing a smile. 

Harry didn’t have the energy to do more than grunt at his best friend’s quip.  He had the undeniable urge to crawl under a rock and stay there.  He smelled like wine and his aching body craved a shower, but every minute he spent up here made matters worse. 

 

“You going to change or we finding another way to Hogwarts this year?  _Again_.”

 

Harry flinched at Ron’s words.  He was being selfish yet again.  He nodded and looked down at his stained shirt.  Changing would be good.  Ron stepped into the room and closed the door.  Right, wouldn’t want the girls to see.  Nope.  Wouldn’t want that.

He had his shirt halfway over his head when he heard Ron say, “So, you and Ginny had some night, then?”

 

His stomach twisted with panic and before Harry knew it he had managed to get himself tangled up in his shirtsleeves.  Goddamn, he was pathetic.  He struggled with his shirt for several mortifying moments before it finally yanked free.  He threw the offending shirt across the room irritably, before forcing himself to meet Ron’s eyes. 

 

His best friend’s expression was more drawn and miserable, than angry.  Of course, that would probably change if he knew what actually happened between Harry and Ginny the night before.  But if Harry didn’t tell him and he found out anyway, which he _would_ , it’d be a complete disaster.  He couldn’t deal with this.

 

Convincing himself that there wasn’t time to get into it, Harry muttered bitterly, “If by ‘some’ you mean absolutely wretched, then yeah, we had _some_ night.”

 

Ron made a noise that was somewhere between a laugh and a grunt.  “Yeah, me too.”  For the first time, Harry wondered _why_ Ron looked as exhausted and worn as he felt.  Some friend Harry was.  But before he could slip too far into self-hatred, Ron yanked him back to the present, saying, “So, I take it you didn’t sleep with Ginny.”

 

“Sleep with Ginny?”  Harry squeaked, his eyes snapping to Ron.  Is that what he’d thought when Harry wasn’t in their room this morning?  That Harry had … had … oh God.  “No … _no_ … absolutely not.

 

Ron put his hands up in surrender.  “I didn’t think you _shagged_.  Just … maybe …”

Fuck, now Harry _had_ to tell him the truth.  There was no way he was going to get away with, “there just wasn’t time.”  Burying his head in his hands and hoping that Ron wouldn’t be able to make out his muffled words, Harry confessed, “I kissed her.”

 

“You kissed her!”

 

No such luck.

 

“Shite, Harry,” Ron said in a soft, awed voice.  He didn’t sound angry so Harry felt it was safe to venture a look.  Ron’s eyes were wide and sympathetic as he leaned against the door, his arms crossed.  “Is she going to break up with Dean, then?”

 

Ron’s words sounded almost hopeful, only serving to twist the knife in his gut.  Harry stood and undid the buttons of his jeans, looking down as he said, “Judging by the way she ran from the room in tears, I’d say no.”  Ron’s breath whistled in a sympathetic sound, but Harry didn’t think he could handle any placating words so he pressed on, “I passed out in the library.  Alone.”  Very, very alone.  “Just woke up now.”

 

“Passed out in the piss drunk sense, I see,” Ron remarked dryly, picking up his stained shirt.  Harry could only shrug.  “Don’t forget a good _Scourgify_ and Breath Charm.  You reek, mate.”

 

Flushing, Harry hopped out of his jeans and pulled his wand from of his back pocket.  It was a good thing it was there all along.  He’d completely forgotten about it when he woke up.  Sixth year was certainly getting off to a brilliant start.

 

Harry preformed the spells quickly, wrinkling his nose at the unpleasantly harsh mint taste as Ron said casually, “If it makes you feel any better, you probably had a better night than I did.”

 

The mental image of Ginny bent over sobbing flashed through Harry’s mind again.  “I doubt it,” he muttered under his breath, grabbing the pair of lightweight entirely-too-Muggle-for-the-Hogwarts-Express trousers Adrianna had insisted on him wearing today.  “What happened?  You and Hermione have a bad row?”

 

Ron grunted.  Leaning his head against the door jam, he stared up at the ceiling.  He certainly wasn’t acting like himself.  He seemed haunted, almost.  Bloody hell, when were Ron and Hermione going to get together already?  At this point, their muddle of a relationship was going to drive all of them around the bend.  And by “all of them” Harry put himself at the top of the list.

 

“No, we didn’t row,” Ron finally said.  “It would almost be better if we had.  We just … we just went too far and worked through nothing and now I have no bloody clue how the hell I’m supposed act around her at Hogwarts or how our friendship … fuck … I just fucked up.”  Then shaking his head, he asked quickly, “You ready?”

 

Sensing Ron’s urgency, Harry nodded before he even fully pulled on his shirt.  By the time he rolled up his jeans and shoved them into his rucksack, Ron was halfway out the door. 

 

Harry caught up with Ron on the first floor landing.  Feeling as though he should at least try and lighten the mood, Harry stepped onto the steps and attempted to joke, “If it makes _you_ feel any better, my night was a lot like yours only with more alcohol, more yelling, and a whole lot _less_ sex.”

 

He’d made it to the foyer before he realized Ron wasn’t beside him.  Turning, Harry found his friend frozen on the bottom step. 

 

“We did _not_ shag,” Ron hissed, his voice low.

 

Harry’s eyes widened.  He hadn’t thought … he hadn’t meant … he meant sexual _stuff_ not _shagging_.  This was Hermione they were taking about, for God’s sake.  He threw up his hands, his bag slipping from his shoulder.  “I know that, mate.”

 

Ron nodded and, feeling as though he’d just dodged a rather nasty hex, Harry started to turn toward the ballroom, only to hear Ron mutter behind him, “I’m not _that_ much of a prick.  Just because Hermione said she _wanted_ to shag—” 

 

“What!” Harry yelped, much too loudly, turning back toward Ron so quickly that he lost his balance and tripped over his own bag.  He would have landed flat on his arse except for a small hand that shot out of nowhere and grabbed his elbow.

 

Bloody hell.  Harry closed his eyes against the humiliation, praying to God he hadn’t just tripped like fool and been caught by _Ginny_.  Not after everything that had happened.  But when he righted himself, he found that he was looking at a stranger.  A bloody _gorgeous_ stranger with the face of an angel and the body of a pixie, a rather well-endowed pixie.

 

What …?  Maybe he was still dreaming and this was some bizarre wine-induced nightmare.  He hadn’t woken up late.  Hermione hadn’t told Ron she wanted to shag …

 

“All right there, mate?” the girl asked in a familiar voice that did _not_ belong to the body Harry was staring at.  She looked maybe a year or two older than him and was smiling cheerfully with shinning silver eyes, her delicate features framed by soft blond curls as they escaped from a jaunty ponytail.  He’d never seen her before in his life, but there was …

 

Then Ron said something that almost made Harry fall on his arse.  Again.

 

 “Tonks?”

 

 

 

* * * * *

 

 


	44. Back to Reality

Ginny wasn’t surprised that she was the first person downstairs and ready to go to the train station the next morning.  She might not be looking forward to going back to school, but there was only so much time a girl could spend staring at the ceiling without going mad. 

Sleep was doomed from the start.  Even her bed was in league against her, taunting her.  Goddamn bloody memories.  Couldn’t they leave her alone?  Where was a good Dreamless Sleep Draught or Knock-Out Potion when a witch needed one?  And wasn’t wine supposed to put people to sleep?  Or at _least_ make them forget?

Ginny couldn’t forget _anything_.  Not one bloody thing.  It was all her bloody room’s fault, that stupid bed.  It was where she had her first truly meaningful conversation with Harry, where they first became close friends, where Harry comforted her and held her all night after the attacks.  It was where they first touched the watch, first had the dreams. 

She remembered the first time they kissed in those dreams as if it was yesterday.  It had been so real.  But Ginny had more than dream kisses to savor now   Only it was hard to _savor_ the memory of kissing Harry when it was laced with disappointment, regret, and _horrific_ guilt. 

And confusion, mustn’t forget the rambling confused thoughts that tripped over each other as she desperately tried to figure out what that stupid git, Harry Potter, was thinking, kissing her, last night of _all_ times.

Ginny finally gave up on sleep around dawn and dragged herself off to the shower for a good drenching, which turned into one last desperate cry.  She wouldn’t have the privacy for such things once they left for school.  She couldn’t let Dean or anyone else see her in such a wretched state.

What Ginny really needed now was a plan, a clear idea of how she was going to handle Dean and Harry once they got back to Hogwarts.  The problem was that in order to have a plan, she first had to decide what she wanted.  If only it was as simple as choosing which boy she fancied more.  _That_ she knew the answer to.  But _nothing_ in her life was ever that easy.

After her shower, Ginny had plenty of time, waiting alone in the ballroom, to riddle things out, to _plan_.  Fat lot of good it did her.  All her thoughts ever did was go ‘round and ‘round in a goddamned circle.  Where it stops no body knows.  But it never stopped.  And it was always the same.

Ginny fancied Harry.  Harry fancied Ginny enough to kiss her, but only when they were both drunk and she wasn’t available.  See, Ginny had a boyfriend.  This boyfriend was _not_ Harry.  Ginny had thus cheated on said boyfriend with said kiss.  Ginny was a slag.

Therefore, it would probably be prudent for her to break up with said boyfriend and end the whole bloody farce.  Unfortunately, this decision was complicated by the boyfriend’s lying-on-her-deathbed-after-a-horrific-unknown-hex mother.  _Also_ , said boyfriend was nice and sweet.  A good boyfriend.  Harry, on the other hand, was occasionally nice and sweet, but more often a great big noble prat. 

 

More to the point, said boyfriend fancied Ginny.  Harry fancied only god knows who.  But what was clear was that Harry did _not_ fancy having a girlfriend.  And Ginny did _not_ fancy waiting around like a pathetic fool for a boy who was entirely unpredictable.  However, Ginny _did_ fancy Harry.

 

And so, she was brought right back to the beginning for the circle begin again … and again … and again, leaving Ginny dizzy and miserable, with absolutely no idea how she was going to deal with either Dean _or_ Harry.  And her time to figure it out was quickly slipping away.

It would really help if she knew Harry’s motivations for kissing her.  There would still be Dean’s mother as an issue, but at least Ginny would know where she stood.  Did Harry fancy her on some deep, subconscious level that he wasn’t even aware of?  One that only came out when he had ingested mind-altering substances because he was too much of a thick, emotional challenged git to deal with it like a man?  God, he was irritating.

Of course, the other option was that Harry was just the average piss-drunk randy sixteen-year-old who had a girl fall in his lap.  Didn’t matter who the girl was, as long as she had two lips and was willing to snog.  That option was a bit more irritating.  Actually, there were no scenarios that _weren’t_ irritating.  And that, with the vast silence of the enormous room, was going to drive Ginny around the twist right quick.

Then, suddenly, she wasn’t alone any more and all Ginny wanted was the quiet back.  She suffered through her mother’s concern when she refused breakfast, gritting her teeth against a mounting headache, relieved beyond words when her parents and Remus finally left for King’s Station with their trunks and pets. 

Adrianna had some barmy idea that the teenagers would be safer if they went in a small group, taking the Tube through Muggle London.  Hide in plain sight or some such nonsense.  Whatever.  At this point, Ginny couldn’t care less if she rode a Blast-Ended Skrewts to King’s Station.  She just wanted to get out of this house. 

Oh, wait, leaving Grimmauld Place meant going to Hogwarts, which meant she’d have to deal with Dean.  Goddamn it.  Ginny didn’t know what she wanted.  _All_ the alternatives sucked.

So, she stared blankly into space and tried to ignore Adrianna’s incessant complaining about how long it was taking _everyone_ to get ready.  Apparently, Ginny didn’t count as _everyone_.  And she didn’t get credit for being the _only_ one downstairs, either.  Life was just too unfair.

Ginny watched, absently, as Ron and Hermione came down in turn, only to be sent back upstairs because their clothes weren’t quite _Muggle enough_ for Adrianna.  What exactly was Muggle enough, anyway?  Were their everyday clothes _that_ different from Muggle’s?

Sometimes, Ginny wondered if life was easier for Muggle teenagers.  Did they have the same romantic troubles?  Well, they certainly didn’t have to deal with the Boy Who L—

“Ginny.  _Ginny_!”

Her head snapped up and Ginny found Adrianna standing not a foot in front of her, waving a hand in front of her face.  Rather rude, is what that was.  Adrianna’s frown deepened, presumably in response to her thoughts. Well, if Adrianna was offended by her thoughts than she really shouldn’t read them.

“ _Ginny_ ,” Adrianna snapped, “I _said,_ you need to change.  That is not the outfit—”

“What?  This is Muggle!” Ginny protested, more than a little annoyed at the idea of changing.  She’d picked out this outfit carefully.  Baggy jeans with an old grey tee-shirt that was once Bill’s … or it could have been Charlie’s.  Whichever it was, it was old and threadbare and _huge_.  The entire outfit suited her dark mood and served her goal of pure unattractiveness. 

It was her temporary plan while she tried to come up with a better one.  If all else failed, repulse all blokes.  Wouldn’t it be wonderful if Dean saw her again and decided she wasn’t the one for him?  Well, not wonderful, but definitely, infinitely _easier_.  Right now Ginny would settle for easier.

“Ginny, we’re supposed to look like Muggle University students,” Adrianna explained for the umpteenth time.

“Students wear this,” Ginny argued.  Though, for all she knew, Muggle University students wore pajamas to class.

“Only the suicidal ones,” Adrianna spat, clearly irritated.  Which was entirely unfair as Ginny was the _only_ one on time. 

She gave into the urge to stick her tongue out at the older witch and Adrianna rolled her eyes, snapping, “You look like a beggar.  Change.”

Bloody bossy bint.  Ginny crossed her arms and gave her a defiant smile.  “I can’t.  All my clothes were sent to the station in my trunk.”

Adrianna’s eyes narrowed and before Ginny could enjoy her small victory, she lifted her wand.  Shite.  A quick charm and Ginny’s clothes shrunk until they fit like they were made for her, the shirt ending right above her belly button and the jeans slung low on her hips.

Ginny squealed in outrage.  How _dare_ she?  And the thing that really hacked Ginny off was that she was struggling to remember the spell for future reference.  Given her large number of hand-me-downs, shrinking her clothes would be down right useful.  _If_ she was trying to look attractive, which she was most definitely _not_.

“Much better,” Adrianna said with a smile.  For someone who was supposed to be a responsible adult, she was awful cheeky about putting Ginny in what some might call tart clothes.  “While we’re at it, the red hair has to go.  Much too easily recognized.  What color would you like?”

Curling her lip, Ginny answered immediately, “Brown.  The ugliest mousiest brown you can imagine.”

Rolling her eyes and looking entirely put out, Adrianna waved her wand again.  Ginny’s hands immediately flew to her hair and she pulled a short strand into sight.  “Oi!” she exclaimed. “This is _not_ ugly.”

Adrianna sighed.  Stepping closer, she said softly, “Ginny, do you really think that boys aren’t going to like you because of the color of your hair?  Do you think they’re _that_ shallow?  Your problems aren’t going to be so easily solved.”

“I know that,” Ginny snapped.  God, she hated Empathy sometimes.  Shite.  Adrianna must know everything.  She must know what happened last night.  She must know that Ginny was a slag—

“I don’t think you’re a slag,” Adrianna reassured, with a sympathetic, albeit annoying, look.  “I think you’re a teenager.  One with a rather difficult life.”

What the hell did _that_ have to do with anything?  What did being at war have to do with kissing one boy while dating another?  Or did Adrianna mean something else? 

Before Ginny could question her, Adrianna was called to duty as Hermione came down the stairs for the second time.  As she went to inspect her next victim, Ginny’s attention was drawn to her oldest brother, who called cheerily as he entered the room, “Oi, Gin, you look good.” 

Ginny rolled her eyes, fighting the urge to throw something.  Bill strolled over with a smile that faded as he got closer.  “Isn’t that shirt a bit tight for you?”

Is it, indeed?  While she appreciated the irony, Bill’s critique of her wardrobe was annoying to say the least.  He seemed so cool when he lived in Egypt.  “Blame Adrianna,” Ginny sniped.  “It was her idea.”  Then she gave her brother a good looking over.  “You look … young.” 

He did.  And extremely fit as well.  Not that he didn’t usually, but he looked softer or something.  His hair was glamoured blond which didn’t help matters and he wore it down, probably to hide the fang earring that Ginny noticed he didn’t remove.  Hmm.  Not _entirely Muggle,_ that.  What would General Adrianna say?

Bill flashed a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.  That was happening more and more as of late with her oldest brother.  Ginny remembered him being happier, as well.  When she was little or he’d come to visit, he always seemed so full of life.

“Just a bit of a weak deaging potion,” Bill explained, “same as Adrianna.”

Ginny’s eyes snapped over to the older witch.  She hadn’t noticed a deaging ... well, Ginny had assumed that Adrianna was looking rather young today because of her ridiculous cropped trousers and the way she wore twin sloppy plaits on either side of her head.  Was she planning on going on the train like that?  It wasn’t exactly professor attire.

“You’re fine,” Adrianna said to Hermione, waving her by, but putting up her palm to Ron as he descended the stairs behind her and tried to sneak by.  “Not so fast.”

“What?” Ron whined.  “I’ve got this stupid shirt with barmy football players on and everything.  They don’t even _move_ , ‘Drana.”

 

“Your clothes are fine.  Just … go drag Harry’s ass down here, will you?  We’re going to miss the train.”

Ron flashed a quick look at Hermione before turning and all too eagerly running back up the stairs.  Hermione let out a small whimper and closed her eyes.  If it were possible, she looked even more miserable than Ginny.  What was she thinking?  It wasn’t even remotely possible. 

When Hermione opened her eyes again they were blood-shot and exhausted, blatantly contradicting the cheery Muggle clothes she wore.  She made her way over to Ginny and sank onto the sofa next to her with a blank expression. 

“Bad night?” Ginny asked.  Hermione’s only answer was a desolate glare complete with a sullen pout.  “Yeah, me too.”

Chuckling, Bill perched himself on the arm of the sofa.  “I dunno what has you two so mopey.  I wish I could go back to school.  Life was easy then.”

He earned himself a scathing look from Hermione and Ginny was just about to give into that urge to chuck something at him when Adrianna said, “Ignore Bill.  He has a _very_ short memory.” 

Bill looked rather disgruntled at that and he gave Adrianna a penetrating look, as though he was trying to riddle out if she had read something revealing on him, if she was hinting at something.  Well, if she was, Ginny wished she’d share.  A bit of her older brother’s drama might be the only thing that could make her feel better at that moment. 

Even if Ginny had a bloody mess of a love life, at least she was fifteen and not _thirty_ with a bloody mess of a love life.  But Adrianna just smiled her secret smile, the cocky chit, and moved behind Hermione to plait her long hair down the back, hiding the distinctive curls.

“Wotcher, mates,” a familiar voice called from the door.  “Oi, I thought you’d be more ready than _this_.”

“Tell me about it,” Adrianna muttered

She barely spared the newcomer a glance, leaving Ginny to narrow her eyes in confusion at the small, beautiful blond girl in the … oh dear god.  “ _Tonks_?” Ginny gasped.

The girl didn’t need to answer.  A loud thump confirmed Ginny’s suspicions when she looked down to see her eldest and most dignified brother had tumbled off the edge of the sofa and landed flat on his arse.  And still, he stared at Tonks with a daft, open-mouthed expression.

Tonks blushed and cleared her throat, her ponytail of blond curls bouncing as her eyes found a spot on the floor, far away from Bill.  Adrianna stifled a laugh and Ginny _finally_ found her distraction.

“Honestly, Bill,” Tonks said with what seemed to Ginny like forced lightness, “is it _that_ shocking?  This form just seemed to fit the part of a Muggle student rather well.”

It did at that.  Tonks certainly had no need of a deaging potion.  Bill, however, didn’t buy her explanation.  He growled, managing to look menacing even as he lay on the floor.  “After hiding your natural form for ten years.  Today it ‘fits the part.’  You didn’t have any other forms that ‘fit the part’ of a University student?”

His biting words lost some of their … well, bite, seeing as he was busy untangling his long legs as he pulled himself to his feet.  But Tonks seemed to take offence anyway.  “I’m not _hiding_ anything.  I use this form when it suits me.  Besides, ‘Drana, wanted to see it.”

Bill shot Adrianna a furious glare, but the accused just shrugged and gave him an innocent look.  Ha.  Innocent was the _last_ thing she was.  Bill’s eyes narrowed still further and he snapped, “Can’t ‘Drana read our bloody minds if she wants to see what you look like?”

Adrianna met his gaze evenly, tying off Hermione’s hair with a flourish.  “I was curious.  Dora’s image of herself is different from other people’s, which isn’t uncommon, but I wanted to see whose was more accurate.”

“And whose was more accurate?” Hermione asked, her eyes carefully taking in each of the key players.

Adrianna lost the battle against her own smile.  “Bill’s.”

This time it was Tonks’ eyes that narrowed.  Her fair skin couldn’t hide her blush either.  Her reply was cut off, though, by a loud clatter of footsteps that could only belong to boys. 

Harry appeared first, making any glimmer of a good mood slip from Ginny’s grasp as her heart skipped a beat.  Did he remember their kiss?  Did he regret it?  Did he want to do it again?  Did he think she was a good snog?  Oh god, what was wrong with her?

 But whatever Harry thought about their kiss, at the moment, it was clear that he was completely engrossed in an intense conversation with Ron.  His back to them, he distractedly dropped his rucksack to the floor.  Then the stupid daft git managed to trip over his bag, Tonks, and his own left foot, all at the same time.  Idiot.  Served him right.  If he was looking at Ginny, he would have seen where he was going.

Harry would have landed on his arse if Tonks hadn’t gracefully kicked the rucksack aside and caught his arm, righting him.  It was actually quite funny.  Clumsy prat.  Then he caught sight of Tonks’ new form and Ginny didn’t feel like laughing anymore.

From the awestruck expression on Harry’s face one would have thought he’d never seen a girl before.  He was gapping like a fool, practically drooling, lust in his eyes.  Did a girl have to look like _that_ to get Harry Potter to pay attention to them?  To _really_ get his admiration?

Ginny took a sharp breath through her nose, certain that at any moment she’d start breathing fire.  Next to her, Hermione growled low in her throat and Ginny jerked her eyes to her youngest brother.  Ron’s expression was almost as disgusting as Harry’s and his voice was awestruck when he asked, “Tonks?” 

Ginny shifted closer to Hermione in female solidarity.  She really hated men.  Pricks and wankers, all of them.

Harry looked back and forth between Ron and Tonks, doing a great impression of a trout.  “No.  Not Tonks … you’re too … Tonks is too …”

Too what?  Too sturdy looking?  Too ordinary?  Too strong?

“… too clumsy.”

Tonks turned bright red and immediately turned nervous eyes to Bill.  He met his ex-girlfriend’s gaze evenly.  Standing there arrogantly, as if he _hadn’t_ just fallen on his arse, he said in a mocking tone, “Well see, Harry, that’s where you’d be wrong.  In her primary form, as she is now, D—Tonks, here, is anything _but_ clumsy.”

Tonks glared at her ex but didn’t contradict him and Bill smiled bitterly in return.  “No, it’s the _unnatural_ mass she insists on carrying around to make her bigger that creates her clumsiness.  It’s hard to judge where one’s limbs are.  Isn’t that right, Dora?”

In the tense silence that followed, Ginny was genuinely afraid Tonks was going to hex poor Bill’s bits off, ending her chances of nieces and nephews, from that particular brother at least.  But in the end, Tonks just shrugged, saying in a light tone that was contradicted by the look in her eyes and the tension in her shoulders, “It’s a small sacrifice.”

Bill snarled at that.  “Yes, it _is_ better to trip over your own feet than to look like yourself.”

There was hurt in his voice and Tonks drew herself up in preparation for battle, but Adrianna cut her off, saying cheerfully, “Bill, you just took a tumble off of the sofa.  You’re hardly the one to be critiquing someone’s coordination.  At least Dora has an excuse.”  Then, smiling brightly, Adrianna threw Harry and Ron a pair of Muggle caps and clapped her hands together, calling, “All right, everyone’s here, let’s get rolling.”

Adrianna’s previous sniping and scowls had disappeared as she gave cheery instructions to the group.  Besides making her nauseated, it left Ginny with no doubt that she had arranged this whole mess to interfere with Tonks and Bill’s love life.  And judging by the look on Adrianna’s face, whatever she had planned was working brilliantly.

Well, Ginny wished the Empath would turn some of that help _her_ way.  Ginny’s love life was just as disastrous as Bill’s and arranging for Tonks to capture _all_ of Harry’s attention was not helping matters in the least.  Adrianna owed her for that alone.

Looking at Harry as he smiled at Tonks, Ginny was suddenly _very_ glad that she wasn’t wearing those ugly clothes, after all.  She needed a new plan.

* * * * *

Hermione wouldn’t go as far as to say that she had _never_ been this miserable before.  Though, at the moment, she couldn’t remember a time that was _worse_.  She’d had some horrible days, certainly.  But always, when she felt _this_ bad, she been able to retreat to a corner, sobbing until her throat was raw. 

Now, instead of the relief crying provided, Hermione was forced to traipse across London, suffering the source of her misery’s constant presence as Ron ignored her and ogled Tonks.  If they were attacked, Hermione was in big trouble. 

Besides her emotional state, Hermione’s head felt as though it was stuffed with cotton.  She was so exhausted, she was practically delirious.  Add that to the fact that her body was sore and aching from last night’s disaster and horde of Death Eaters riding Hippogriffs could stampede onto the Tube and they’d still catch her unawares.

And all because her plan had failed.  It hadn’t really sunk in yet.  Hermione had never failed at _anything_ before _._ Not once in her entire life.  And she’d put so much time and thought into this.  It was _so_ important.  But still she failed.  She was a failure.  Even with all her efforts, Ron hadn’t fallen in love with her.

All Hermione managed to accomplish with her grand schemes and manipulations, her _Practice_ , was to create a snogging master, a ruddy Casanova, for _other_ girls to enjoy.  It was _Hermione_ who’d fallen even further in love and, worst of all, she’d lost herself in the process.

Just thinking about the things she’d done and said the night before … ugh!  It made her nauseated.  _God_.  Hermione had begged _, begged_ her best friend to _shag_ her.  Worse than that even.  She’d practically forced him.  She’d been a complete slag, selfish and manipulative to boot.  And he hadn’t even wanted to.  Her _sixteen_ -year-old best friend had said “ _no_ ” to shagging. 

 _Ron_ had been the rational, mature one.  What was wrong with this picture?  What had happened to them?  What had happened to _her_?  Hermione was supposed to be the rational, mature one.  They were some of her core characteristics.  If one was to ask someone who knew her, _anyone_ , to describe her, they would surely use the words “rational” and “mature,” along with “intelligent” and “logical.”  At least, before this summer they would have.

Hermione remembered looking in the mirror that morning, after Adrianna had _forced_ her to change into her new clothes.  She’d stood there with the clinging shirt and low riding, cropped trousers, her curls smooth and shiny despite her misery and the girl looking back at her wasn’t a Hermione she knew.

It was ridiculous, but Hermione couldn’t wait to get her school uniform back on, to feel the scratchy wool against her skin, and, hopefully, find someone more familiar in the mirror.  Last night, she’d dreaded the role that Hogwarts forced her into.  Now, she craved it. 

Hermione would surely know who she was once she was back at Hogwarts.  The summer would fade away and seem like a dream.  Discretely, she wiped the corners of her eyes.  She was done letting Ron see her cry.  She didn’t deserve the humiliation and he didn’t deserve the guilt.  Hermione had heaped enough on him this summer. 

Taking deep breaths, Hermione imagined sitting in the comfort of the school library, the cool, dusty books under her fingertips.  There, she would find the old Hermione.  Then she could stop focusing on winning Ron and start concentrating on getting _over_ Ron.

“Hermione.”

Her head jerked up and she looked behind her to see Tonks standing on the platform, looking at her expectantly.  Hermione’s eyes widened and she looked around her to see they were the only ones there.  The _far_ too pretty Auror tilted her head toward the wall between platforms nine and ten, indicating that she was waiting for Hermione to go through. 

So much for staying alert.  Hermione didn’t even remember getting to King’s Cross.  And it stung that Ron hadn’t waited for her to step through.  It wouldn’t have bothered her before this summer, but now …

Oh god.  It was really over.  Staring at the wall, it hit her.  The summer was over and on the other side things would go back to the way they were before.  Over there, Ron was insensitive and treated her just like one of the blokes.  Over there, he didn’t wait for her.

 

But Ron had all ready crossed over.  She was the only one who hesitated.  Taking a deep breath, Hermione rushed the wall, telling herself that she was _not_ hoping Ron would be waiting on the other side. 

Of course, he wasn’t.  Ginny was, though.  Hermione had to tell herself that she was _not_ disappointed.  She’d known he wouldn’t be there.  Yet, her eyes were searching the crowd, finding Ron and Harry almost immediately.  The boys were standing next to the train with Adrianna and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, helping with the trunks and animals.

Hermione met her parents for lunch three days ago to retrieve Crookshanks.  It was decided, not by her, that King’s Cross was too hectic and dangerous a place for them to drop off her pet.  She wasn’t even sure who did decide.  Tonks just showed up and told her they were going to meet her parents. 

She would have preferred a bit more time to prepare herself, meeting them was always … Hermione didn’t even have the energy to contemplate her complex relationship with her parents at the moment.  Suffice to say, it had _not_ been comforting.

 

“What happened?  You get stuck?” Ginny sniped irritably as she came up next to her.  “Decide to have a nice stroll amongst the Muggles?”

Hermione shrugged, not having a good answer to give her.  Ginny must have sensed how out of sorts Hermione was, because she sighed, her annoyance melting away and her face taking on a look of commissary as she weaved her arm through Hermione’s. 

Purposefully, Ginny pulled her through the crowd, away from the boys and the disturbing sight of an ever growing gaggle of pretty Hufflepuff girls gathering around them.  Clenching her jaw, Hermione fixed her eyes straight ahead and reminded herself of her determination not to cry again.  The whole school didn’t need to witness her patheticness.

She must have done a bang up job of hiding it, seeing as how Ginny almost immediately turned to her and said, “God, Hermione.  And I thought _I_ was miserable today.  Nothing my brother did could possibly be worth _this_.”

Hermione’s eyes began to sting as she lost further ground in the battle against herself.  All she could manage in way of response was another shrug.  Ginny wouldn’t be saying that if she knew what had happened the night before, if she understood that it wasn’t anything Ron had done.  It was what _Hermione_ had done that was the problem.  And what Ron hadn’t _._

Again Ginny sighed, entreating in a whisper, “Tell me what’s wrong.”

Hermione shrugged a third time.  But then she realized that she was being rude and the Hermione she _used_ to know was never rude, so she forced herself to say, low enough that only Ginny could hear, “I failed.  I just need to face the facts.  My plan failed.  Ron is never going to fall in love with me.”

Ginny rolled her eyes, which was not exactly the sympathetic response Hermione needed at the moment.  “Never, eh?  Isn’t that a bit dramatic and fatalistic?”

Probably.  But then, drama and fatalism was the only comfort Hermione had left.  She shook her head, forlornly.  “It just isn’t meant to be.” 

Ginny scoffed.  Tilting her head in the direction of her brother, she muttered disdainfully, “Look at him.  Ron’s as miserable as you are.  It’s not that he doesn’t fancy you, it’s that he’s a dimwit..  An immature, doesn’t-see-what’s-right-in-front-of-him, complete and utter _idiot._    Just like his git of a best mate.”

Hermione almost reminded her that _she_ was his best mate, but decided against it.  Because really, Ginny was right.  Hermione _was_ a complete and utter idiot, even if she wasn’t the best mate Ginny was referring to. 

Then as if to prove her own point, Hermione’s eyes were drawn through the crowd to Ron.  He didn’t look miserable to her.  He was now helping those Hufflepuff tarts get their trunks onboard the train.  They would probably just _love_ to benefit from Ron’s considerable Practice.  Yup, Hermione certainly was an idiot.

She wrenched her eyes away from the sight and forced herself to listen to Ginny.  “Harry’s just the same,” she was griping, “too young and too stupid to know that what he wants is right in front of him and too cowardly to do anything about it!”

“Mmm,” Hermione hummed noncommittally.  Logically, Ginny’s statement had quite a few flaws and wouldn’t hold up in debate, but her voice was angry and impassioned.  It was clear logical was not her chief concern at the moment.

But it wasn’t until Ginny came to a dead stop in the middle of the platform that Hermione began to get nervous.  Ginny’s state of mind seemed to be no better than her own and the younger girl tended to be a quite bit more on the impulsive side. 

Her eyes glued to Harry, Ginny breathed, “You know what?”

Hermione grimaced, pretty sure she did _not_ want to know.  It was with great trepidation that she asked, “What?” 

“We’re young and stupid as well,” Ginny responded in an airy voice, sounding as if she had just made the revelation of the ages. 

“We are?” Hermione asked, doubtfully.

“Are we going to waste our youth sitting around waiting for those prats to grow up and take their heads out of their arses?”

“Um … yes?”

“No!  It’s time for a new plan,” Ginny declared fiercely, her eyes bright. 

Now, while Hermione was in favor of “plan” as a general concept, she strongly suspected she would not like anything Ginny came up with at the moment.  Hermione was beginning to feel as though she was being carried away by a rather intense tidal wave. 

She had the strong impulse to break away and run.  If wasting her youth meant hiding on the train and moping, then Hermione was all for it.  Better yet, she wanted to change into her uniform, pin on her prefect badge, and channel her frustration into finding misbehaving students to take house points from.  _That_ would make her feel more like herself.

But Ginny wasn’t going to let her go that easily.  “No,” she said to herself, as Hermione hadn’t actually said anything for her to respond to.  “We’re going to live our lives.  _That’s_ what we are going to do.  That will get those prats.”

“It will?  How?” 

Hermione tried to look back at Ron and Harry, but Ginny was once again dragging her down the platform.  She seemed to be heading towards Tonks, who appeared to be watching over the front on the train.  Hermione frowned in confusion.  She thought Ginny was annoyed at Tonks for … well, for being pretty and  _distracting_ Harry.

Ignoring Hermione’s question completely, Ginny ranted on, “I’ve been _such_ an idiot.”  Well, it was good to know that they were all idiots at this point.  “What was I thinking?  What was I trying to prove by looking like a hag?”

Hermione raised her eyebrows and looked Ginny over.  She looked rather pretty, just as she always looked, except that brown hair curled around her face rather than red.  Was there something wrong with brown hair?  Hermione found it hard not to take offence at that.

Ginny didn’t notice, though.  Hermione was beginning to think she could be replaced by a sack of potatoes and Ginny still wouldn’t notice.  “I can’t believe I’m giving him the satisfaction of pining for him,” she continued, seething.  “I’ll eat my own socks before I do _that_ again.”

Hermione didn’t have to ask which “him” she was referring to.  Harry and Ginny must have had a night that rivaled her own with Ron.  No, nothing could rival _her_ night.  If Hermione wasn’t so mortified, she’d share the story with Ginny.  It would probably make her feel better. 

Tonks smiled warmly as they approached, seemingly to have no idea the envy she inspired in the girls.  “Wotcher, mates.  Shouldn’t you be finding your friends and getting compartments on the train?”

Yes.  Yes, they should.  Finding compartments sounded just lovely to Hermione, but Ginny smiled sweetly at the Auror, asking, “We will, but first … Tonks, could you change my hair back?”  She was quite the actress, Ginny.

“Oh.  Of course.”  Tonks grinned and quickly turned Ginny’s hair back to the bright red-orange cloud it was naturally.  She must have done something else to it as well, because it looked shinier and fluffier than it had this morning.

Ginny ran her hands through the bright locks and grinned.  “Thanks.  You wouldn’t happen to know a charm to fix baggy, bloodshot eyes as well?”

“Oi, who are you talking to?  Don’t insult me.”  Tonks laughed cheerfully.  Waving her wand, she removed the vestiges of poor sleep from Ginny’s face.  Then, before Hermione knew what was happening, Tonks turned to her and repeated the spell. 

“No, I…” she protested, but it was too late.  Hermione felt a slight tightening under her eyes and her hand flew to her face, feeling only smooth skin.  Wonderful, now her appearance was completely dishonest.

“Brilliant,” Ginny declared.  “Thanks, Tonks.  You’re fantastic.”

“Not a bit of it,” Tonks said graciously, waving a dismissive hand.  “Now, off to your blokes with you.  I have a job to do.”

Yes, off to their blokes.  Only Hermione didn’t have a bloke.  No one wanted to date _her_. 

“Oh look, there’s Dean,” Ginny said, raising to her toes and waving. 

Hermione looked up to see Dean, his head above the crowd, smiling, as he made his way toward them.  Lovely.  Could she go hide _now_?  Sighing, she asked, “You want to go and meet him?”

Ginny shook her head, whispering, “Let them come to us.  Boys like to _pursue_.”

Great, that sounded like just the sort of wisdom that had worked _so_ well for Hermione this summer.  But wait … them?  Who was …?  Oh god.  As Dean got closer Hermione was able to see his shorter best friend walking next to him.  This day just kept getting better and better. 

Pulling at her arm, Hermione tried to free herself from her friend’s death grip.  “Ginny, I’m just going to go—”

“Oh no, you’re not.  You aren’t going anywhere,” Ginny insisted, adding a second arm to hold her in place.  For a petite witch, Ginny was absurdly strong. 

Hermione shook her head.  She couldn’t deal with this.  Rising to her toes, she looked around frantically, desperately trying to catch sight of Ron and Harry again.  She’d rather be with them and their fan club than endure _this_.  “Ginny, I don’t want to see Seamus.  He’ll just make fun of me and I can’t take that right now,” she whispered urgently.

Ginny scoffed.  “Are you nutters or just blind?  I saw the way Seamus was looking at you at Flourish & Blotts.  He was _flirting_ with you, Hermione.”

Shaking her head more rapidly, Hermione yanked at Ginny’s iron grip as discretely as possible.  “That’s ridiculous.  He doesn’t think I’m attractive.  He thinks I’m a bookworm and a prude, a completely insufferable—”

“ _Well_ ,” Ginny whispered, squeezing her arm to silence her, “judging by the look on his face, I’d say he’s gone and changed his mind.”

With rising panic, Hermione realized that Seamus was only a few feet away now.  He was beaming and looking at her in a way that made her blush.  Oh god.  Desperately, she repeated, “I can’t handle—”

“Yes, you _can_ ,” Ginny insisted.  “Now stop pining and start living.  Put all that Practice to good use.”

“Ginny!”

“Flirting Practice, Hermione.  Just flirt with him.  It will make Ron crazy.” 

But Hermione was through trying to make Ron crazy.  She turned to tell her just that, but Ginny squeezed her tighter, whispering harshly, “Do you think this is easy for me?  It’s about mind over emotions.  You just need to know what’s best for you.  Dean is sweet and wonderful and I am _happy_ to see him.  I _am_.” 

Ginny sounded a tad hysterical and to say that she protested too much was an understatement.  But there was no time to talk sense into her, because she was letting Hermione go, calling out brightly, “Dean!”  Hermione hoped that she was the only one who noticed that the enthusiastic way Ginny embraced her boyfriend was forced. 

Hermione stared at her in wonder.  The way she could just push aside her feelings and move on was amazing.  Or maybe she was just deluding herself.  Either way, Hermione just didn’t have it in her.  Her eyes searched the crowd until she finally found Ron.  That gaggle of girls just kept getting closer and thicker.

“Hermione,” Seamus greeted with a broad smile, pulling her attention back to him.  “You just keep looking better, lass.”  She managed to give him a half-hearted smile in greeting, trying to keep her eyes from narrowing in suspicion.  Seamus seemed a bit nervous, shuffling his feet.  Why was he doing this? 

Her eyes found Ron once more.  One of the girls was touching his arm and Hermione felt her stomach twist.  Then Ron looked up and caught her eye, caught her staring at him like a love sick fool. 

Hermione jerked her eyes away.  Humiliated now, as well as sick with jealousy, she took a deep breath and forced a smile onto her face.  “So, Seamus how was your summer?”

His grin broadened and he began talking eagerly.  Oh god, what was she doing?  Could this day get any worse?

* * * * *

Ron knew that he needed to talk to Hermione.  He had no idea what he was supposed to _say_ , but he knew that he needed say something, _do_ something.  He knew that she was hurting and that, somehow, it was his fault.  So he was going to have to fix it.  The only problem was, Ron had no idea what it was he was supposed to fix. 

 _Obviously_ , the night before hadn’t gone well, but _he_ should be the one really hurting ... and he was, but Hermione … damn it, he didn’t know what was going on in her head.  She was so bloody complex and confusing.  Was she still feeling rejected because he stopped before they went too far?  Was she upset that things went as far as they did? 

He knew Hermione didn’t want to go back to school, but why?  How was Ron going to fix _this_ when he didn’t understand what _this_ was?  He was terrible at making things better and it didn’t help that he was feeling wretchedly miserable himself.

Last night, as he lay awake holding Hermione’s sleeping form, Ron decided that they needed to discuss exactly how they were going to deal with everything once they got back to Hogwarts.  This leaving-it-unspoken thing just wasn’t working for them anymore. 

The idea of talking about it made Ron a bit nauseated and went against every male instinct he had, but they were both going to go completely mental if things weren’t clearer. 

But then, imbecile that he was, Ron had to fall asleep just before dawn.  He even failed when it came to staying awake.  That was what happened when one was a complete and utter failure. 

When he woke, Hermione was already gone.  If he had known that the morning before would be the last morning he was going to wake up with her, Ron would have … _savored_ it more or something. 

Instead, he’d woken up, expecting her to be next to him, and was faced with an empty bed.  Ron could do nothing but lay there, pathetic girlish tears leaking from his eyes, hating himself for being so stupid.  It was over, really over.  No more Practicing.  No more sharing a bed.  No more nothing.

In a snit, Ron turned the beds back to the way they were before.  If he wasn’t going to get to sleep with Hermione ever again, he didn’t need to stare at the bed they’d shared.  If it was over, it was over. 

God, how could he have fucked up so thoroughly?  Maybe that was why he was afraid of talking to Hermione now.  If Ron had no idea how he had managed to break things so badly, how did he know he wouldn’t just make matters even worse?

Of course, putting off the conversation he knew he had to have with Hermione was rather easy given that fact that Adrianna, in a quick whisper outside Grimmauld Place, had entrusted him with the task of babysitting his older brother on the way to King’s Cross.

Since Adrianna seemed to be the only person who thought Ron was capable of accomplishing _anything_ , he didn’t want to disappoint her, even if her confidence was misspent.  So, he kept alert for threats and made sure his grumbling older brother didn’t make a scene over his pretty ex-girlfriend.

Though pretty was a bit of an understatement.  Ron could certainly understand Bill’s obsession.  Tonks was gorgeous.  She made Fleur’s beauty seem cold and hard, almost false.  Of course, as a part Veela, it was false in a way.  But, there was life and fire in Tonks’ bright smile.  She wasn’t a witch easily forgotten.

It was certainly understandable that Bill couldn’t take his eyes off of her.  And since Adrianna seemed to recognize _and_ enjoy this fact, Ron was left thinking that she had an ulterior motive for inviting him.  Bill certainly wasn’t doing a very good job of protecting them.

Ron _had_ hoped he would be able to grab the object of _his_ obsession once they got to platform 9 ¾.  Perhaps they could find an empty corner of the train and talk before the prefects meeting got underway.  If nothing else, he needed to make sure his friendship with Hermione was intact.

He’d been gathering his courage for this little chat for hours, but once they arrived at the platform he and Harry were immediately drafted to help with the trunks and when Ron looked behind him, expecting to see Hermione, he found her moving in the opposite direction with his sister.  Rather quickly at that.  It seemed Hermione did _not_ want to talk to him.

Swallowing the lump that formed in his throat, Ron moved the trunks and animals onto the train without much grumbling.  At least it kept him busy, even if it did make him appreciate the magic he’d been able to use all summer.

His state of mind was not helped by the annoying number of girls who kept coming up and trying to talk to them.  Ron figured it was because of Harry, who had regained full hero status after the Department of Mysteries, but Ron really wished they would leave _him_ alone.  For once he wouldn’t mind being left out and overshadowed.

Two particular witches were especially tenacious.  They kept going on and on with, “oh, you both look _so_ strong,” and “our trunks are _so_ heavy.  I bet it would be _so_ easy for _you_ to lift.”  Ron and Harry gave each other long suffering looks, but did as they asked without complaint.  Ron, for one, didn’t have the energy to complain. 

He didn’t even remember the girls’ names, though Ron was embarrassed to say he thought they were sixth-years, so he really should have known.  They were Ravenclaws or Hufflepuffs or … shite, they could be Slytherins for all he knew.  Though, they had become more attractive over the summer, whoever they were. 

When Ron finished loading her trunk, the one with the dark blond hair smiled prettily and stepped a bit _too_ close, saying softly, “Thank you, Ron.  You’re _so_ strong.”  Yes, she repeated herself.  She was very original, this bird, and clever as well.  Though, she, at least, knew _his_ name.  Then he stood, frozen with horror and discomfort, as she reached out and curled her hand around his bicep, asking suggestively, “Why, you must have been _active_ this summer.”

Ron could only nod dumbly as his eyes instinctively searched the crowded platform for Hermione.  It was abnormally packed with people given how close to eleven o’clock it was.  Usually most kids would all ready be on the train, but it seemed everyone had the same idea.  The later they arrived the safer they would be. 

When he finally found Hermione she was quite a distance down the platform.  And she was looking back at him.  Ron’s heart lurched, but she immediately turned her eyes away and smiled at … _Seamus_.  Fuck.  He felt physically ill and, suddenly, he was very glad that Hermione had seen him with a girl groping his arm, a _pretty_ girl.  See, someone wanted him.  Even if she didn’t.

Ron turned back and forced himself to exchange pleasantries with the girl whose name he still didn’t know.  He was relieved when she finally said, “I’ll see you on the train, Ron.”  As soon as she was gone, he breathed a sigh of relief and again turned his head to watch Hermione.  She was _still_ talking to Seamus.  Bloody tosser. 

“You have it bad, little brother,” he heard Bill say and Ron had to agree, considering he couldn’t seem to take his eyes off of Hermione, no matter how painful and humiliating it was.

“Hey, mate,” Harry said quietly, nudging him in the arm.  “Maybe you should, er … go talk to her or something.”

Ron nodded, repeating dumbly, “Maybe I should go talk to her.” 

Should he?  Oh god, what if it wasn’t the right thing to do?  What if she would rather talk to Seamus?  He turned his head, immediately seeking out Adrianna.  He caught her eye and silently asked for conformation … or _anything_ , some clue as to what he should do.  He needed _help_ here.

Adrianna gave him a small smile and agreed, “Maybe you should talk to her.”

Nodding again, with a bit more conviction this time, Ron turned back to Hermione and took a deep breath.  Right.  All right, then.  He was going to go talk to her.  He’d just—

But before Ron could take a step toward her, Adrianna’s hand closed around his forearm as she said in a tense voice, “Just not now.” 

Now what?

* * * * *

Harry watched the two Hufflepuff girls who had been flirting with them (or, more accurately _attempting_ to flirt with them.  It took two to flirt, yeah?) disappear into the train and frowned.  He really hoped that this wasn’t an indication of what this year was going to be like. 

The last thing Harry needed was to be hounded by a bunch of witches eager to date the Boy Who Lived now that it everyone realized that he was right about Voldemort all along.  Isolated as he had been all summer he really hadn’t had to deal with the consequences of the Department of Mysteries on the wizarding world _and_ his reputation.  He was really going to miss Grimmauld Place.

 “You have it bad, little brother,” Bill chuckled, pulling Harry’s attention back to Ron, who was staring down the platform at their other best friend, a blank expression on his face.  Automatically, Harry’s eyes found Ginny, who was rather exuberantly embracing her bloody wanker of a boyfriend.

Harry jerked his eyes away from the sight before he was subjected to the sight of them snogging and was forced to spew what was left of an entire bottle of red wine all over the platform.  He couldn’t believe this was what he was going to have to endure all ruddy term.  Yup, he already missed Grimmauld Place.  And Japan.  Maybe he could go back to Japan.

Forcing himself to followed Ron’s gaze, Harry watched Hermione have what seemed to be a rather civil conversation with Seamus.  While, on the surface, it seemed like an ordinary exchange between classmates all Harry saw was a solid week of Ron and Hermione not speaking to each other and Ron being completely impossible to live with.

Whatever happened between Hermione and Ron, they _really_ needed to work this through.  Harry loved them, he really did, but all of Gryffindor tower was going to suffer the consequences if they didn’t get together officially.  _Soon_.

“Hey, mate,” Harry said, swallowing his anxiety and nudging Ron with his shoulder.  “Maybe you should, er … go talk to her or something.”  Harry really hated interfering in Ron and Hermione’s relationship, friendship or otherwise.  It always gave him the sinking feeling that it would blow up in his face and he’d lose one or both of them.  But things were getting dire here. 

 “Maybe I should go talk to her,” Ron repeated, just proving that his brain had turned to mush and giving credence to Harry’s theory that love destroyed a man.  Ron turned to Adrianna for confirmation and she repeated Harry’s advice.  Thank god.  That meant …

Something wasn’t right.  Harry drew himself up.  His body coiled tightly as he carefully perused the platform.  Then, looking off to his right, he held his breath.  The air was too still … _Crack_.  _Crack_.

Harry’s wand was in his hand before the situation could fully register in his mind.  Death Eaters.  At King’s Cross.  He took a step toward them as muffled screams rang out, the sounds dim and far away.  The only thing that Harry could clearly hear was the thump of his own heart in his ears and sharp snap of four more _cracks_ scattering down the length of the platform as more Death Eaters appeared.

One of them now stood directly in front of Harry.  Before the hooded figure could take a step toward him, Harry yelled, “ _Tiro lontani_ ,” sending the Dark wizard flying back, through the crowd.  Next to him, Harry heard his cousin yell a far deadlier spell and the Death Eater next to his crumpled in a pool of blood.

Harry should have sent a deadlier spell as well.  He’d wasted precious minutes throwing the Death Eater into the crowd.  Oh god, the time had come.  Harry was going to have to become a killer.  Today.  There was no time to think about it, he needed to do it or someone innocent could die.  He raised his wand—

“Harry!”  Adrianna grabbed his arm and jerked him toward her, pulling him next to Ron and behind Bill, who stepped between them and the Death Eaters.  Adrianna gestured to Hermione and Ginny to hurry as they rushed down the platform toward them, their wands out, Dean and Seamus just behind.  Oh dear god, please let them all survive.  _Please_.

“I need each of you to take one of the train entrances,” Adrianna instructed, her voice loud and urgent.  “Get the students on board and don’t let anyone else past you.  As soon as the train leaves, break up in pairs and search the train.  Go!”  Then her eyes shot back out to the crowd.  “ _Tiro lontani_ ,” she yelled propelling another Death Eater away from them.

 

The group immediately scrambled to obey, but Harry hesitated, barely processing that Adrianna had grabbed Hermione’s arm, holding her back.  “What about you?” he screamed to his cousin.

“I’ll Apparate on as soon as you’re all clear.”  Adrianna turned and fixed him with the full force of her intense gaze.  “Take the back of the train, Harry.  I’m counting on you.  Go.  _Now_!” 

Harry didn’t want to leave her, but it wasn’t the sort of command one disobeyed, so he nodded and ran down the platform as quickly as he could.  He threw two more hexes as he went, not stopping to see if they hit their mark. 

The platform was in chaos, though the crowd was thinning as parents Disapparated as quickly as they could, some of them with their school-aged children.  There would be empty desks at Hogwarts this year. 

As Harry approached the end of the train, students scattered, scrambling back as a black robbed figure stepped onto the very steps he was supposed to be protecting.  Goddamn it.

Continuing to run, he screamed, “ _Tiro lontani_.”  The figure flew backwards, but Harry knew it wasn’t enough.  The Death Eater was already raising his wand toward him.

Harry never heard which hex was thrown at him.  He yelled, “ _Protego_ ,” even as he ducked.  There wasn’t time to wait and see if the curse that flew by him was deflectable or not.  He needed to finish the bastard off quickly.  But, fuck, Harry couldn’t cut him.  He knew he should, but he couldn’t. 

Then Harry’s eye caught sight of an abandoned trunk.  “ _Gettare duro_.”  The trunk sped through the air with a frightening speed, slamming the Death Eater on side of the head and pinning him to the ground.  God, he just might have killed him anyway. 

But there was no time to dwell on it.  Ignoring the students who stood, frozen in shock, gaping at the still form, Harry leapt over the fallen wizard and onto the steps.  Turning to the group, he screamed, “Come on!”

To his utter astonishment, the group snapped to attention and rushed to obey.  But then again, they had just witnessed Harry possibly kill a man.  They were probably too terrified to disobey.  Pushing past him, they quickly climbed aboard until only one little girl was left. 

She stood staring at Harry as if petrified, tears drenching her small face.  Shite, was she really old enough to go to Hogwarts?  Harry took a deep breath, his eyes burning just from looking at her.  “It will be ok,” he lied, holding out his hand.  “Just come inside with me and you’ll be safe.”

The girl sniffled, her lips twitching into something resembling a smile as she allowed herself to be pulled forward.  Harry lifted her aboard and turned to find there was an assembly of students behind him, just inside the car.  Searching for a face he recognized, he found Hannah Abbot.

 

“Take her,” Harry shouted, urging the first-year toward Hannah, who nodded and held out her hand.  God, and he’d thought he was terrified the he first time stepped on this train. 

Turning to the rest of the group, he yelled, “Everyone get to a cabin and close the door!  Put up a shield if you can.”  He was amazed when his fellow students scrambled to do as they were told.  Didn’t they see Harry was just as terrified as they were?

Turning his attention back to the platform, Harry took in the scene.  The crowd was much thinner now, most of the students and their parents gone.  Everyone left was engaged in fighting.   There were fallen witches and wizards on the ground, many of them Death Eaters, but not all.  Thankfully none of them appeared to be students, none of them children at least.

Harry could see far more than six black robbed figures fighting now, despite the ones who had fallen.  He recognized Moody, who must have arrived without Harry realizing it.  Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were fighting a Death Eater together.  It was strange seeing her fight.  And wrong somehow.  She was the mother.  She shouldn’t have to fight.

The train lurched and started to pull away, causing Harry to lose his balance and grab the door to keep from flying off the train.  Was it eleven o’clock already?  He felt a stab of dread.  He didn’t want to go without Adrianna.  But she and Tonks were in the thickest of the fighting.  Was the train even safe without her and Remus?  Without a _single_ adult on board?  Harry had told that girl she would be safe.

His stomach continued to knot as the train station became smaller and smaller, finally fading from view, but Harry forced himself to take a deep breath.  It was time to do as he was told.  Adrianna said they needed to search the train in pairs, so he went inside, intent on finding Ron.  They were all these students had now for protection.  If that wasn’t terrifying, he didn’t know what was.

As he stepped into the hallway, Harry realized the entire train was complete pandemonium.  There were students up and down the hallways, crying, screaming, climbing over each other to get by.  The people he had asked to go into their cabins either ignored him or hadn’t told their friends. 

That was when he realized that he had no idea where Ron had got onto the train.  And Death Eaters could be anywhere.  As much as he wanted to find Ron and Hermione and, oh god, Ginny.  Harry couldn’t believe he was thinking this, but he hoped she was with Dean.  There was safety in numbers. 

The image of Ginny lying on the floor bleeding flashed through his mind and Harry closed his eyes against it.  Swallowing, he forced them back open.  He couldn’t wait to find Ron, or any of them, before he started his search.  Adrianna’s words rang through his head.  She was counting on him.  Everyone was.

At first, Harry ignored the chaos and students running around in disarray.  After all, who was he to tell them what to do?  He wasn’t a prefect.  He had no authority.  But he quickly realized that all the screaming and running from cabin to cabin was making it impossible for him to do his job.

The first time he yelled at a group of students to get into a cabin and stay put, it was out of sheer frustration.  When they went silent and stared at him in response, Harry was sure that he was good and fucked.  Certainly, they’d turn on him, or laugh at the very least.

But before he knew it, the hallway was cleared.  He even thought he heard someone whisper, “That’s Harry Potter.  We better do what he says.  They say he’s going to be the one to save us from You Know Who.”

Harry bit back a groan.  Great, more pressure.  Was that the line the _Prophet_ was selling these days?  Was Harry everyone’s savior again?  He wondered how long it would take before he was the power hungry maniac again.

Well, at least there was some advantage to his temporary hero status.  Everyone was surprisingly cooperative, even if some of them looked just as scared of him as they were of the Death Eaters.  He also caught a few girls making doe eyes at him, which made him tense and worried about Ginny again.  Where the _hell_ was she?

He didn’t run into any trouble in the first car, nor did he find his friends.  When Harry stepped into the second, this time he immediately ordered everyone into their cabins.  Again they went without argument, except for … shite, he should have known he was going to run into trouble with the Slytherins sooner or later.

“Who the fuck are you, Potter, to tell _anyone_ what to do?” Theodore Nott demanded with a sneer as he and a fellow Slytherin, a large fifth-year boy with a shiny new prefect badge, blocked his path.  Bloody hell.

Harry raised his wand in what he hoped was an intimidating way, biting out, “I don’t have time for this, Nott.”

“I’m the prefect here,” the fifth-year bragged.  Arrogant prick.  Harry should really find out his name, though.  He needed to know his enemies.  “Why don’t _you_ go into _your_ cabin and stay there.”  The boys laughed and Harry rolled his eyes.

“I was told to search this train for Death Eaters,” Harry barked with more bravado than he felt.  “And that’s what I intend to do.  So, if you don’t step aside, I’m going to have assume you’re one of them.”

Again, the boys sniggered, this time reaching for their wands.  It seemed they weren’t all that easily intimidated.  Before Harry could plan his next move, two sets of voices called out from behind him, “ _Stupefy_!”

The Slytherins fell to the floor with a thud and Harry jumped, spinning, his wand raised, only to find two welcome faces behind him.  “You warned them, Harry,” Neville said almost apologetically.  Colin Creevey stood next to him, looking shocked, but rather proud of himself, all in all.

Harry laughed, despite everything.  Clapping Neville on the shoulder, he said, “Thanks mate.”  He’d never meant it more.

“What can we do to help?” Colin asked with characteristic enthusiasm, though it was strange to hear it said in such deep, calm voice.  Colin was one of those blokes one never imagined would grow up.

“Could you get these two out of the way while I search the cabins?” Harry asked.  They nodded and quickly did as he requested.  They acted as if Harry was in charge here.  He wasn’t sure he liked the idea, but their help allowed him to search the cabins without interruption. 

As he was about to enter the last cabin he again felt that prickle of unease, as though someone were following him.  Clutching his wand tightly, he spun, catching the culprit under the chin with the tip of his wand.

“Jesus, Harry,” Colin gasped.  “It’s just me.”

Harry immediately relaxed, his wand arm dropping as he whispered furiously, “What the hell are you doing following me?”

“I thought you could use some back up,” Colin replied innocently and Harry frowned.  Colin was not the back up he had in mind, but the younger boy had just Stupefied Nott and he never had been easily dissuaded. 

He’d have to do.  “Fine, but you do as I—”

There was a loud crash.  A Death Eater burst through the door of the last cabin and grabbed Colin. 

Time slowed for Harry.  He saw the masked figure coming and felt an intense burst of rage.  How dare they invade the Hogwarts Express?  This was _his_ place.  It belonged to Hogwarts.  It _belonged_ to Harry. 

Without thought, he raised his wand and aimed it over Colin’s head.  “ _Tiro lontani_.”  As soon as he said it he cursed himself _again_ for not using something deadlier.  The Death Eater flew back and Harry recoiled as there was a loud burst of sound like an explosion. 

Harry pushed past Colin and into the cabin.  Holy _shite_.  The force of the spell had hurled the Death Eater through the wall, somehow ripping a hole into the side of the train.  Had Harry done that?  He was pretty sure that _wasn’t_ supposed to happen.  The shock distracted him.  A fatal mistake in battle. 

The Death Eater must have managed to grab hold of the side of the train and was hanging on by his fingertips.  Just before his fingers slipped free, Harry saw his wand jerk and a flash.  There was another explosive crash and he instinctively covered his eyes as glass and debris flew at him.

As he lowered his arm, Harry vaguely heard Colin call, “All right there, Harry?”

He was about to nod when he felt the sharp pain in his neck.  He tasted blood and then everything was black.


	45. Stepping Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter contains detailed descriptions of injuries that may be disturbing to some readers.

Ron weaved his way through the crowded aisle of the Hogwarts Express, looking for his friends. Occasionally he’d get frustrated with the crowds of cowering students and snap at them, ordering them into their compartments. He didn’t bother to stop and see if they obeyed. He needed to get to Harry and Ginny and, god, he just needed to find Hermione.

His mind kept flashing back to the platform. Adrianna ordered them to guard the entrances to the train, but when he looked back for Hermione, she was given a different task, ordered to the luggage car, several carriages down from him. She disappeared with _Finnigan_ before Ron had a chance to say a word to her.

If her task was so important why hadn’t Adrianna sent Ron with her? Didn’t she trust him to protect her? Surely he was more capable than Seamus Finnigan, for god’s sake. Ron knew he should just be glad that Hermione wasn’t alone, but if something happened could he really count on Finnigan to keep her safe?

It was rough out there. Ron threw a rather dangerous hex at a Death Eater charging his train door just as the train began to pull away and … well, Ron didn’t know if, or how badly he’d hurt him. He was a little afraid to find out, actually. Ron did what he had to and if he’d become a killer today, he hoped he remained blissfully unaware of that fact.

He grunted as his path was blocked by a group of first- and second-years huddled on the floor. _Again_. What was it with midgets and hallways? Didn’t they like to sit on actual seats? Trying not to sound _too_ irritable, Ron barked, “You need to get in your compartment.”

“What if _they_ are in there?” a young boy lisped, pointing to the door.

Great. A train filled with midgets expecting Death Eaters to pop out of any corner, just what he needed. Ron fought the urge to roll his eyes. Why would a Death Eater be hiding in …? Oh fuck, there _could_ be a Death Eater in there. There could be a Death Eater _anywhere_ on this train.

Suddenly, Ron remembered that Adrianna had ordered him to search the train as soon as it left the station. Shite, he’d been too preoccupied with his own crap to make good on his responsibilities. He _knew_ Adrianna’s faith in him was misplaced.

And _still_ the urge to ignore what he needed to do and run to the luggage car was almost overwhelming. Gritting his teeth, Ron lifted his wand and entered the compartment. There wasn’t much to see. It was completely empty, but he waved his wand through the space anyway, just in case there was someone under an Invisibility Cloak or something.

It only took a few minutes before he was satisfied that it was safe. Stepping back into the hallway, he said, “It’s clear—”

Ron was cut off by a piercing scream. A girl several carriages down was shouting for help. Several carriages down in the _opposite_ direction of the luggage car. _Damn it!_

“It’s fine. Get in the cabin and stay there,” Ron yelled to the younger students, already sprinting down the hall and into the next carriage, _toward_ the noise. He ignored the voice in his head that insisted he was going in the wrong direction.

As he got closer Ron could hear the screams more clearly. “We need help!” Not a girl. Colin.

In the third carriage down, Ron found Neville teetering in the doorway of the first compartment. Paler than Nearly Headless Nick and looking as if he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to cry or faint, Neville was anxiously shooing younger students away from the door. When he caught sight of Ron, Neville’s face dissolved into a look of relief and he sputtered desperately, “Ron, thank god. Harry …”

Ron didn’t hear the rest of what Neville said. He had stepped into the doorway of the compartment and after that he couldn’t hear _anything_. The world had gone silent. His heart had stopped.

Colin was openly weeping, kneeling over _Harry_. Crumpled on the floor, pale and still, was Harry, Ron’s best mate in the world. And there was a piece of glass protruding from his neck just above the collar bone. Oh god. Oh god. Was this real?

“Neville, find an adult. Lupin or Adrianna,” Ron heard himself say in a strangely detached voice. He was surprised that he was able to say anything at all, never mind something coherent since he had to remind himself to breathe. Please, god, let there be an adult on this train. “Or Ginny. Send Ginny.” She was good with healing charms, wasn’t she? She’d be able to do _something_.

“But—” Neville began.

Ron jerked out of his stupor. Harry was lying on the floor _impaled_! He didn’t have time for “buts.” “ _Go_!” he bellowed.

The sound of Neville’s footsteps pounding down the aisle echoed in Ron’s ears as he fell to his knees beside Harry. Ron groped his arm, feeling for a pulse. Shite, some day, he wanted to live a life where he wasn’t constantly searching for his best friends’ pulses.

“He saved me,” Colin whimpered, his voice heavy. “A Death Eater jumped out and Harry sent him flying.” He pointed to the wall and for the first time, Ron noticed the gaping hole and the blistering cold wind pulling at them. “But the Death Eater threw one last spell. Oh god, is he dead? _Please_. He’s not dead, is he?”

Ron clenched his jaw, feeling the muscles in his shoulders coil tighter with every word that fell from Colin’s tongue. His fingers moved down Harry’s wrist frantically. If Colin would just stop prattling on, Ron could just … the pulse. There it was. Slow but steady. Bloody hell. Thank _god_.

“He’s alive,” Ron breathed, feeling his tight shoulders suddenly turn to jelly in his relief. “Thank god.”

“Thank god,” Colin echoed, wiping at his cheeks and clearing his throat. “What do we do now?”

Ron shook his head. He had no idea. They were stuck on a train in the middle of god knows where, he had no clue if there was a single adult onboard or _anyone_ capable of performing the kind of the healing Harry needed, and, for all Ron knew, the place could be teeming with Death Eaters. His best friend was dying and he had _no_ fucking idea what to do next. Ron had never felt so incompetent and helpless in his life.

Colin swallowed. “Should we take the glass out?”

“ _No_!” Ron snapped, a little too harshly and Colin flinched. Ron had no idea why, but for some reason he _knew_ that removing the glass was the wrong thing to do. “We should—”

Just then, the train turned. A simple turn, one they would have barely noticed under normal conditions. But their compartment had no wall and the turn came with a gush of wind. Debris flew around the compartment before succumbing to the sucking wind and flying out the opening. Seat cushions shook and broke free, flying out across the moor.

Ron instinctively threw his weight across his best friend. He held Harry’s head carefully, but still something must have shifted because Harry’s breathing was noticeable now. A sickening gurgling sound accompanied every breath and his chest rose and fell in an unnatural way. _Fuck_.

“We need to get him out of here,” Colin called over the raging wind, gripping the wooden seat next to him to keep from being thrown around the compartment.

“We can’t move him,” Ron yelled, holding Harry tightly. His eyes burned with tears. Oh god, Harry was going to die and Ron was seconds away from breaking down. He was Harry’s only hope and he _didn’t_ know what to do. Ron was going to fail him. Harry was going to die because of him.

The train eventually straightened and the wind died down. But that wasn’t the last turn this train would make. And they had over three hours left before they got to Hogsmeade. “We need to close that hole,” Ron panted. It was the only way. But, of course, he had no bloody clue how to accomplish it.

Desperate, Ron raised his wand and yelled, “ _Reparo_.” The tare in the wall closed by a miniscule amount, rounding out the edges, but making no real difference in the wind. He hadn’t really thought it would work anyway. Maybe if he were a more powerful wizard. “Damn it,” he groaned. What they needed was Hermione.

Damn, _Hermione_. Please, let her be safe. He couldn’t stand it if she was hurt as well.

Colin stared at him with wide, trusting eyes, looking to Ron for answers as if he actually had any to give. He wasn’t clever. He didn’t have any skills. There was nothing he was good at …

Ron’s breath caught, his eyes immediately flying around the compartment, looking for something, _anything_ he could use. His eyes fell on the fifth-year boy. It was a long shot but it was worth a try. There was the only one thing he could do well.

“Colin, give me your jacket.”

Colin’s eyes widened, but he didn’t question him. He just shrugged out of his jacket and handed it to Ron.

“Hold Harry down and whatever you do, don’t let his head move again,” Ron ordered firmly.

It was strange to see Colin, or anyone, rush to obey, but he did and Ron climbed to his feet, bracing himself against the wind as he stumbled to the open wall. As he fixed the jacket to the wall, he had only one thought, there was absolutely no _way_ this was going to work.

Grabbing the luggage rack to steady himself, Ron raised his wand. He took a deep breath and shook his head. What was he thinking? A wall was _not_ furniture. This couldn’t possibly work. Then Ron’s eyes fell on Harry. He needed to do _something_.

“ _Furia Coutore_!” Ron yelled, as if the sheer force of his voice, of his will, would make the spell work.

Then he was left to stare in shock as, somehow, it did. “Shite,” he whispered, watching the jacket stretch and meld, quickly transfiguring into a train wall. No way. He couldn’t believe it. It worked. For once in his life, Ron had done something right. It bloody well _worked_!

“Whoa!” Colin gasped and Ron let out a little huff of a laugh as his knees gave out and he fell, seemingly boneless, onto the hard wooden seat. “Bloody hell, Ron, what did you and Harry _do_ this summer?”

A smile tugged at the corner of Ron’s lips at the awe in Colin’s voice. It _was_ a pretty brilliant spell, wasn’t it? He—

His thoughts were interrupted as the compartment door flung open with a bang and a voice yelled, “Shit, Harry!”

When Ron saw Adrianna run into the compartment and fall to her knees beside Harry, he almost laughed out loud with sheer relief. Hey, it was better than fainting. Hearing a professor swear was rather funny as well. Everything was going to be ok now. Ron just knew it.

Adrianna ran her hands over Harry, checking his breathing and pulse. “Was he hit by a hex too? Or was it just debris?” she asked as she pulled out her wand.

“Just debris,” Colin rushed to say. “I’m almost certain. The Death Eater couldn’t have thrown more than one spell before he fell from the train.”

Adrianna nodded without looking away from Harry’s face. Waving her wand, she produced a small home healer's kit. As she opened it, she looked up and caught Ron’s gaze. “You ok?”

Ron nodded. He could ask the same of her. She looked as though she’d battled her way through hell to get there. But she was tough. Adrianna was going to take care of them now. “How is _he_?”

“He’ll be fine. These are Muggle wounds, easily fixed by magic.” But then she averted her eyes, nodding as if to convince herself. The gesture wasn’t exactly reassuring.

Relief turned to dread as Ron made the connections in his head. Clearing his throat, he asked, “Do you … you _can_ do that magic, can’t you?”

Adrianna hesitated and Ron’s heart froze. They were _hours_ away from a Healer. Were there any magical modes of transport that wouldn’t shift the glass and—?

“I know first aid. I can … it will be fine,” Adrianna said softly, looking down at Harry and biting her lip. She carefully smoothed his slick black hair away from his forehead. “It will be fine.”

Ron could only pray that she was right. Surely she’d come across worse wounds than this as an Auror. Even Harry had been in worse scrapes than this. Hadn’t he?

Taking a deep breath, Adrianna looked back at Ron and instructed, “I need you to find your sister and send her here; take Colin. After you send Ginny, finish checking the train, ok? I need you to make sure all the students are in their compartments.”

Ron nodded as he stood, once again fighting the urge to cry. He didn’t want to leave Harry, but if this was how he could help it was better than sitting around like an incompetent fool. Adrianna would make certain Harry was all right. He just had to have faith.

As it turned out, Ron didn’t have to look far for Ginny. He and Colin had just stepped into the next carriage when she came barreling down the aisle, her wand out in front of her, tears streaming down her cheeks.

When Ron saw Neville running just behind her, he breathed a sigh of relief. “First compartment, next carriage,” Ron called to her as she passed. Ginny nodded but didn’t pause.

Yes. All right then. Everything was going to be all right. If Adrianna believed that Ginny could help her with the spells she needed, then so did Ron. They both loved Harry. They would fix him. Ron was sure of it. Now, he just needed to find Hermione and _everything_ would be all right.

“Ron. _Ron_ ,” Colin cried out, struggling to keep up with his long strides as he quickly made his way toward the luggage car at the opposite end of the train. “That, um, really scary witch told us to check the rest of the train.”

“We’re starting in the front,” Ron called back without slowing his stride. After seeing Harry hurt, he wasn’t ignoring his instincts again. He needed to see Hermione first.

“Um … ok?”

The atmosphere in the rest of the carriages was surprisingly calm. The prefects must finally have got things under control. Or Lupin. Ron really hoped their other professor was in one of the carriages, helping out as well.

When he finally reached the luggage car, Ron paused, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes. He was going to open that door and Hermione was going to be sitting there, not a scratch on her. She’d look up and see him. Then she’d throw herself into his arms, Ron would tell her how glad he was that she was safe and everything would be fine again.

Ok, then. He opened the door. Sticking his head in … Hermione was there, safe as can be. She just wasn’t alone. Ron’s stomach dropped as bile filled his throat and rage, irrational or not, bubbled up from his gut.

“Ron. _Ron_ ,” Colin called, his voice drifting to him from a distance.

Quietly, Ron closed the door and turned to Colin, his jaw clenching and unclenching as he struggled to control himself. This wasn’t the time to throw a jealous fit. This was a battle situation and he had a job to do. Hermione had a job to do. One, most likely, far more important than his, far more important than his ridiculous _feelings_.

“Everything ok, Ron?” Colin panted, doubling over and leaning his hands on his knees as he struggled to catch his breath.

“No Death Eaters in there,” Ron replied in a strange monotone that he scarcely recognized. He began walking rapidly in the other direction. He needed to get away from that room.

“Oh. All right. Are we going to check the compartments now?”

Ron was saved from answering as a tremor wracked the train. It was followed by a bright wave of blue-green light, illuminating the air. He grabbed the side of the train, looking around with wide eyes.

Colin clutched his chest. The poor boy looked as though his heart would give out if he had one more shock. “What the bloody hell was that?”

“That was …” Ron’s eyes widened still further as he realized what it was. “A shield,” he breathed. “Hermione. We’re safe now. We’re safe.”

That was as long as there weren’t any Death Eaters trapped _inside_. Taking a deep breath, Ron pulled himself up. Hermione had done her job, now it was time for him to do his. Better check the train, then.

* * * * *

When the Death Eaters first appeared on platform 9 ¾ Hermione’s first thought was that she had to get to Ron. And Harry, of course. They were safer if they were together. She set off in a run, grabbing Ginny’s arm as she passed, yelling, “Come on!” Hermione didn’t bother to look to see if Ginny followed as she ran along the platform, keeping close to the train, her eyes on Ron.

Up ahead, Ron’s hand found his wand, but his eyes were immediately on her. Hermione wanted to throw herself into his arms, but there wasn’t time. Adrianna was shouting orders as soon as they were in earshot.

“I need each of you to take one of the train doors. Get the students on board and don’t let _anyone_ else past you. As soon as the train leaves, break up in pairs and search the train. Go!” Adrianna screamed, before turning and shouting a hex, throwing a Death Eater across the platform.

Hermione spun, instinctively hurrying to obey. She saw Ron do the same. They just needed to find doors next to each other then—but Adrianna stopped her with a firm grip on her arm.

She waited reluctantly, growing anxious as Adrianna gave Harry final instructions. Shifting nervously, Hermione’s eyes darted back and forth between the Death Eaters and Ron, who had paused and was now walking backward, his wand arm out stretched. With her eyes she begged him … something. She wasn’t sure what.

Then Harry was sprinting down the platform to the end of the train and Adrianna turned the full force of her gaze on Hermione and she couldn’t help but pay attention. The older witch waved her wand, quickly producing a chest and pressing it into Hermione’s hands.

“In this chest you will find a book called _Incomprehensiblis Recuso Defigo_ and a spell called the _Enormita_. You know it?” Adrianna asked quickly. Hermione nodded, swallowing. “Everything you need to perform the spell is in this chest. Find the baggage car, wait until the train is moving, only _then_ should you perform the spell.”

Hermione was shaking her head before Adrianna even finished speaking. Her eyes flew to Ron, only to see him turn to defend the train. “I _can’t_ ,” Hermione protested. “It’s too difficult. I’m only a sixth-year.” She could feel herself start to panic.

Adrianna grabbed her other arm and yanked Hermione so that she had no choice but meet her eyes. “Listen to me, Hermione. I wouldn’t ask you to do this if I didn’t _know_ you could. There’s no time to argue. Now _go_!”

When she released her, Hermione stumbled back, looking again for Ron, but he was gone. Adrianna looked around. “You’ll need a partner,” she said. “You.” She grabbed Seamus by the arm. “Help her.”

Hermione had completely forgotten about Seamus. He must have followed her down the platform. Now he stared at Adrianna with wide eyes and nodded dumbly. Then there was no more time to ask questions. Adrianna had pushed past them and was already at the center of the fighting.

“Come on, lass,” Seamus called softly. Hermione didn’t even realize that she was staring until she felt his hand on her shoulder. Nodding, she allowed him to pull her to the nearest door.

As soon as she stepped aboard the train and saw the crowds of students, Hermione snapped out of the fog she was in and started running. One thought ran through her mind, get to the luggage car. She’d worry about everything else once she got there. Like how in the name of all things magical she was supposed to do this ruddy spell?

Running through the hall, Hermione could vaguely hear a mix of chatter, screaming, and crying, a muffled din that seemed strangely far away. She clutched the box in her hands. Dear god, the _Enormita_. It wasn’t even taught at Hogwarts. It was the kind of spell she imagined wizards of Dumbledore’s caliber performed, Unspeakables maybe … and Aurors it seemed. Why else would Adrianna carry around the ingredients?

But Hermione was _not_ an Auror. And as arrogant and overconfident as she could often be, this was beyond her. What if she did it wrong? What would happen? Would it explode like one of Neville’s potions? Oh god, could the whole train go up in smoke? It was full of students. Surely, Adrianna wouldn’t have asked her to do this if that was a danger. Right?

Maybe it just wouldn’t work. That _could_ be all right. Adrianna, Tonks and the others could keep the Death Eaters out without an _Enormita_. Certainly, asking Hermione to do the spell was just a precaution. It had to be. But what if Voldemort’s followers were already inside and the spell worked and—

“Come _on_!”

Hermione jerked her head up to see Seamus holding the door to the luggage car open, gesturing frantically to her. She nodded dumbly and, jumping over a discarded rucksack in the hall, ran through the door.

As she passed, Seamus placed a hand on her back, guiding her through and making her still more tense. Of all the students in the school, why was Hermione paired with _Seamus_? What was Adrianna thinking? The one Hermione needed was Ron. Adrianna should have known he was the best person to help her. Maybe she could actually do this if Ron were there.

She stumbled into the room, hearing Seamus slam the door behind her. It was filled with trunks and for a moment, Hermione froze, panting for breath and staring at the tall piles of luggage. It was a frightening reminder of exactly how many students were on this train.

Each trunk appeared here magically, after being placed in the racks at the end of each carriage. Here they were stored safety until Hagrid could retrieve them at Hogsmeade. Some part of Hermione had hoped most of the students had escaped home as soon as the Death Eaters appeared. But looking at the trunks in this compartment … _hundreds_ of lives were in danger.

What did Voldemort want? Was this intended to be a massacre? Was his goal to kill as many Muggle-borns and blood traitors as possible? To cripple the people’s spirit by killing their children? Were they looking to kidnap the youngest witches and wizards to recruit and swell their masses? Get them while their minds were young and their magic weak and unfocused? Or did they just want Harry?

Was it selfish that Hermione found the last option just as horrifying as the others? God, she hated being separated from her boys in situations like these. Where were Harry and Ron now? This wasn’t right. They needed her. Who was she kidding, she needed _them_.

The train lurched and started to move. Oh god. Time was running out. Was everyone on the train? Were the Death Eat—

“Hermione?”

She snapped out of her frozen contemplation, her eyes flying to Seamus. Nice way to respond in a crisis. Even _Seamus_ was doing a better job than her. Hermione needed to get herself together. People were counting on her. Harry was counting on her.

“Right. Yes,” she muttered and then, like a twisted rubber band suddenly released, Hermione exploded in a flutter of activity. She fumbled with the chest, placing it on the floor and stepping back. “ _Engorgio_.”

Seamus whistled as the chest increased in size dramatically. Hermione kept her back turned to him so he probably didn’t see her roll her eyes as she fell to her knees and wrenched open what was now a large trunk. Really, what was he so impressed with? _Engorgio_ was the simplest of charms.

“How did you know to enlarge it?” he asked and Hermione shrugged, again wishing for Ron or … _anyone_ but Seamus. She ignored him and concentrated on her task. She easily found _Incomprehensiblis Recuso Defigo_ and started skimming the pages, silently thanking her parents for forcing her to learn Latin before she was old enough to know what a dead language was.

Behind her, Seamus cleared his throat. “Can I help?”

Hermione grunted irritably. “Um ... not yet. Just watch the door.” She should have told him lock it, but what if Ron or Harry needed her? The last thing she wanted was to keep them from her.

Now, why couldn’t she find the page? She was flipping so fast that she probably missed it. Goddamn—of course, she so _stupid_. “ _Ritrovamento!”_ The book immediately fell open to a page with elegant script declaring _Enormita_ at the top and her finger few over the words, greedily pouring over the instructions.

Hermione had heard of this spell before, but she hadn’t studied it. And _never_ before had she attempted a complicated spell or potion without _fully_ researching it. Now she had no choice. There was no time to do more than follow the instructions and pray for the best.

Dear heavens, the spell was so complicated. Maybe Adrianna kept the ingredients already mixed. Then Hermione could just … but of course not. Where was her brain? Every first year knew that dried Chizpurfle fangs and Tebo hooves can’t be combined for more than a few minutes without dire consequences. Oh god.

“I’ll never be able to do this,” Hermione whispered to herself, panic rising again.

“’Course, you can. You’re Hermione Granger. You can do any spell ever written.”

Hermione slammed the book onto the floor with an angry thud, her eyes snapping back to Seamus. She couldn’t deal with this right now, his shallow compliments and ridiculous placations. She needed someone who _meant_ it. God, Ron was the one who should be standing there telling her she could do this.

Gritting her teeth and scowling up at him, Hermione barked, “I don’t know what sort of game you think you’re playing, Seamus, but this is neither the time nor the place!” Then, taking a deep shaky breath, she tried to ignore her irritation and focus on the long list of ingredients. There were no less than twelve components to be pulverized, mixed, and sprinkled into a circle before performing the spell. Oh god.

Seamus flinched at her words, looking taken-aback, confused, and just a bit terrified at her outburst. “What ...? I ... No … I dunno what ...?” he stuttered.

Boys! Could none of them speak properly? It seemed her aggression wasn’t to be ignored. Maybe venting would help. Luckily, Seamus deserved it. Hermione slammed down the dried Slifflit Berries, snapping, “You _know_ what I’m talking about, Finnigan.”

He must have swallowed his fear then, because he approached her, albeit cautiously. “Honestly, lass, I don’t,” he said in a gentle tone that Hermione couldn’t remember hearing from him before. Seamus probably thought she had gone quite mad. Well, _he_ should try doing magic this complicated on practically no sleep.

And didn’t Seamus realize that they could _all_ die! Hermione might never see Ron again … No! She would. She _had_ to.

Hermione took a careful breath, precisely lining up each ingredient in the order it was to be added. “You _do_ know and you _don’t_ call me lass. You call me Granger or prude or cold-fish or nightmare—”

“Oh. That. Right. Sorry about—”

Hermione ignored his pathetic excuse for an apology. She didn’t pause in measuring ingredients into the small mortar she found as she snapped, “While you and your friends might find the idea of following me around and giving me empty compliments funny, I do not.”

Funny thing, yelling at Seamus actually seemed to help Hermione focus. Maybe it was a good thing Ron _wasn’t_ here. The current state of their relationship might not be able to handle her railing at him.

But then Seamus fell to his knees beside her and his presence was incredibly uncomfortable. It was absurd that he was keeping up with this game at a time like this. Hermione channeled some of her aggression onto the poor Tebo hooves, grinding them to dust.

“No,” Seamus blubbered, shaking his head rapidly. “I—”

Suddenly years of pain from being teased and ostracized rushed to the surface. Damn it! Hermione didn’t have time for this nonsense. Furious at herself _and_ at Seamus, bitter words spilled unchecked from her mouth, “It’s rather cruel actually. More fitting the behavior of a small child or a Slytherin, not a—”

Then she froze as Seamus’ hand settled over hers, stilling her hand on the mortar. “Lass,” he began and Hermione growled at the ridiculous and condescending nickname, making him jerk his hand back. “ _Hermione_ , there’s no game.”

Grunting with frustration, Hermione dumped the dust into a jar and started pounding the next ingredient. This was too much. “Really? Then why are you following me around, talking to me? Paying attention to me after _years_ of barely tolerating my presence? Why do you keep saying I’m _pretty_?” Especially in the middle of a ruddy battle! Git.

“Um … ‘cause you’re pretty.”

Her eyes snapped back up, fixing Seamus with a piercing glare. The little prat looked terrified but he held his ground, which was _almost_ admirable. Or maybe he was just too stupid to realize how close he was to being hexed. “Since when?” Hermione demanded.

“I … um … you’ve always …” Seamus stammered, proving just how full of rubbish he was. “I mean there was that time … well, I’m not sure, but you look really good now.”

Hermione’s brows flew up in shock and outrage. Then her eyes narrowed as she tried to riddle him out. Seamus couldn’t be telling the _truth_? But what if he was? What if this was all about that stupid make over Adrianna gave her? Great, now Hermione was attracting the superficial attentions of shallow gits thinking she was one of _those_ girls.

 _And_ they chose to flirt with her while she had to perform the most complicated spell of her life. So why was Hermione still arguing with him? And where did she put the thorns of a yellow garden rose? What a strangely mundane ingredient _that_ was.

“So, I get a new haircut and some new clothes and suddenly I deserve your attention, is that it?” Hermione accused, as she found what she needed. She couldn’t believe she was still talking to him.

“No … I mean, yes … I mean, you deserved attention before, but … I, um, was, eh, stupid?” Seamus held his hands out and gave her a small hopeful smile, as if to say “aren’t I loveable when I’m an idiot?”

Well, he _wasn’t_ adorable. Not one little bit. Only Ron could get away with _that_ look. Though, for some reason she was surprised to find her anger at the prat had diminished. Mixing the thorns in whole, Hermione grabbed the next ingredient and said more calmly, “So, that’s why you called me a prude at the end of last term? Because you’re stupid?”

Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione caught Seamus wincing. “Yeah, well, I thought I knew a lot more about girls than I did. Besides, lass, you took my Firewhiskey. A clever girl like yourself should know not to separate an Irishman from his liquor.”

This time when Hermione’s eyes snapped up, Seamus was grinning at her with a charming boyish smile and she couldn’t keep a small laugh from escaping. His foot was tapping anxiously and it suddenly became clear that he was trying desperately to distract both of them from the horrible circumstances. If they really stopped and thought about it they might … better not to think about it.

Swallowing, Seamus seemed to force his smile to broaden as he wheedled, “Anyway, I’m sorry about saying all that. Um … you reckon we could, er … start again?”

Hermione took a deep breath, not sure what to say. Was Seamus telling the truth? What did it mean if he was? And considering they both might die if she got this spell wrong, did it matter? “Here,” she said gently, handing him the jar. “Stir this with your wand.”

“Right,” he said, nodding. Seamus’ face became serious as he followed her instructions. He was quiet for a bit and Hermione found herself missing the distraction. The mixture was almost complete. Then they’d know for sure if it was going to work … or explode.

“So, what is it we’re doing?” Seamus asked after a moment, breaking the increasingly tense silence.

Thank god. Hermione couldn’t believe she was grateful for Seamus Finnigan’s constant chatter. “We’re making a shield, a sort of Imperturbable, but one that will cover the entire train.”

The clinking of wand against glass stopped abruptly and Seamus’ eyes jerked up. “You can do that?”

Hermione gave an incredulous, almost hysterical laugh. Wasn’t _that_ just the question of the hour? Seamus rushed to add, “I mean, of course, if _anyone_ can do it, you can, but … I mean …” He cleared his throat. “It will protect us all the way to school, then?”

“It should stay up until the circle is disrupted.” She let out an anxious breath. “ _If_ I do it correctly.”

“You’ll do it correctly.”

Seamus looked rather genuine when he said it, which was so unusual for him that Hermione smiled, though just a _bit_. “Here.” Pushing his hand away, she poured the last ingredient into the jar and he immediately began stirring again.

Hermione stood up to place the necessary crystals at five points around them, murmuring, “I just hope the adults are onboard before the shield goes up.” She pushed the image of Harry and Ron dueling Death Eaters without assistance from her mind. “Are you done with that?”

Seamus nodded, handing her the jar and watching attentively as Hermione poured the contents in a circle just outside the crystals. Then, with a deep breath, she sat, facing him and pulled the book toward her, scanning the directions. “I’ll need your wand.”

He nodded and as she reached out and took the wand Seamus held out so willingly, Hermione felt a rush of guilt for yelling at him, shamefully using him to let out her aggression. It wasn’t his fault they were under attack and she didn’t know how to do this spell. And it wasn’t his fault that she needed Ron desperately right now.

Impulsively, Hermione blurted out, “I’m sorry I stole your Firewhiskey.”

With a bark of a laugh Seamus grinned at her, the strain dissolving from his face. “Why? It’s your job. I’m lucky you didn’t give it to McGonagall.”

Hermione squirmed, her cheeks growing warm as she placed their wands in a cross between them. “That didn’t give me the right to steal it.”

“Hermione,” Seamus asked, suddenly sounding suspicious, “you _did_ pour it down the drain, didn’t you?” Hermione winced, biting her lip and staring hard at the page. “You didn’t? You … don’t tell me you _drank_ it!”

Hermione flashed him what she was sure was a guilty look. “Not while we were at Hogwarts I didn’t,” she muttered defensively.

Seamus laughed so hard she thought he was going to fall over. And if he didn’t stop soon she was going to _push_ him over. Hermione was sorry she mentioned it all, especially now when they were ready for the final incantation.

“Did you get pissed?” Seamus asked eagerly. Hermione blushed harder and squeezed her eyes shut. Now was _not_ the time. “Bloody hell, I’d’ve loved to see that. Wait till I tell—”

Hermione snatched her wand off the floor and held it out at Seamus menacingly. “You tell anyone and I’ll Banish your tongue to Siberia, you understand me?”

The Irishman somehow managed to look terrified and intrigued at the same time. “Er, yeah. Of course. Won’t tell a soul.”

Feeling somewhat embarrassed by her outburst, Hermione replaced her wand, rubbing her sweaty hands on her thighs. It was time. “All right then. So, we’ll start.” Dear heavens. What if she couldn’t do this? No. There was no time for second thoughts. “You just need to chant these three words—”

“What! You mean I have _do_ something? Something _important_?” Seamus burst out, panic overtaking his voice. “You know I’m rubbish at this, Hermione. My O.W.L.s were wretched. I make everything _explode_.”

Hermione felt herself melt toward him just a bit more, his self-doubt making her feel strangely calm. She gave him a reassuring smile. “You don’t make _everything_ explode. And this isn’t at all difficult.” She spent a few minutes teaching Seamus the Latin words, pushing away the niggling feeling that they were taking too long to finish the spell.

When she finally finished, Hermione instructed, “Now give me your hands.” Despite his anxiety, Seamus still managed to wink suggestively at her as she clasped his hands and entwined their fingers. She shook her head in disbelief. He was an _odd_ bloke.

Closing her eyes, Hermione centered herself, practicing the incantation in her head. A click, possibly the door, made her eyes snap open, hoping to see Ron. But when she looked the door was closed.

“Something wrong, lass?” Seamus asked and Hermione shook her head, ignoring her disappointment, though something inside her told her that something was indeed wrong. Suddenly, the longing for Ron was, again, desperately intense.

After the spell. After the spell, Hermione would find Ron. She just needed to get this over with. “No, nothing’s wrong. Let’s start,” she said decisively.

Seamus swallowed and began chanting as Hermione started the more complicated incantation she’d just memorized. She was just starting to think it wasn’t going to work when she felt a surge of power seize her, rising up from her diaphragm, filling her with strength and raw magic.

Her words became more assured and as she spoke the last words a burst of bright sea-blue light erupted from the circle, traveling outward, leaving the train to tremble with the force of it.

“ _Wicked_ ,” Seamus breathed, looking around them, before turning to Hermione with an expression of complete awe. “You think it worked?”

“Yeah. Yeah, it worked,” Hermione confirmed, completely certain. She was still shaking from it’s aftereffects. Now, she just prayed she hadn’t trapped the wrong people inside this train. And, god, please let Ron and Harry be all right.

* * * * *

When Ginny met Dean on the platform she embraced him enthusiastically, determined to put her crazy summer with Harry behind her. She was going to dedicate herself to making her relationship with Dean work. She was not going to let the Boy Who’d Rather Moon Over A Witch Twice His Age ruin a perfectly good relationship.

And Ginny was _not,_ under _any_ circumstances, going to be like Hermione. Mopey, miserable, and withdrawn. To tell the truth, Ginny was completely furious with herself for her earlier behavior. Looking ugly on purpose? What was wrong with her?

Ginny decided ages ago that she wasn’t going to waste her life waiting for a boy, _any_ boy, and especially not Harry Potter. If Hermione wanted to wait around, then that was her choice. But not Ginny. No way.

She was completely confident in her new plan … for all of five seconds. Then Dean’s long arms closed around her small frame and it suddenly felt as though the walls were closing in. Ginny was suffocating. Guilt and self-doubt poured over her, melding into an overwhelming bubble of panic as Dean’s smiling mouth approached hers.

Then, for all her encouraging Hermione to flirt with Seamus to get back at Ron and make him jealous, all Ginny could think was, “Oh god, no. Not where Harry can see.” She feigned to the left, giving Dean a hard, mollifying kiss on the cheek as she whispered some nonsense in his ear about her parents being just down the platform.

Dean smiled and winked, believing her without reservation, not having realized yet what a liar she could be, and murmured something suggestive about finding an empty compartment. That was when the true dread set in and Ginny knew she was in genuine trouble. She was running out of plans. She needed help.

What she got was a Death Eater attack.

Hermione grabbed her arm, dragging her toward Harry and the others, directing Ginny’s attention to the black robbed figures that haunted her nightmares. Death Eaters, here, standing on the platform where Ginny had stood every September first for as long as she could remember, from way back when she was a small girl, waving goodbye to her brothers from the safety of her father’s arms.

And what was Ginny’s first thought? Was it of horror that such a sanctuary had been invaded? Was it of fear for her friends or family? No, her first thought was “thank god.” It was of relief, because now she didn’t have to snog her bloody boyfriend. She was sick.

And now, standing with her wand drawn as she guarded an entrance half-way up the train, the reality of the situation sank in and Ginny knew she was being punished for that single, horrible thought. The train began to speed away and she clung to the doorway, watching the chaos and death on the platform, watching her parents, her brother, her friends. Ginny just prayed that her punishment wouldn’t include any of their lives.

She gritted her teeth, refusing to cry. There was no time for weeping in battle. _Battle_. Was that what this was? Were they safe now that they were on the train? Was _any_ place safe anymore? Why did these things keep happening?

The night Dolohov arrived in their hall flashed through her mind and Ginny realized that she had many days like today in her future _, if_ she survived. And the day would come where she wasn’t holed away in a safe-house or thrust onto the relative security of a train. Someday soon, she’d have to stay and fight.

Dean’s hand closed over her shoulder. It was comforting. In a way. It was strangely … unfamiliar. He wasn’t the one she was used to comforting her. Or maybe he just wasn’t the one she wanted. “So,” he began in a low, serious voice, “that bird, the one we all took orders from, Harry’s cousin, is she capable? You know, of getting us out of this?”

Ginny laughed mirthlessly. “Adrianna? Yeah, she’s capable.” If she survived and got onto the train, that was. God, what would Charlie do if she died? How would they tell him? And Harry? What would all of them do if she never got on this train? There could be Death Eaters onboard. Could they handle it alone?

Swallowing the lump in her throat, Ginny said, without looking up at Dean, “She’s also our professor, so I wouldn’t call her a _bird_ if I were you.” She was also a friend … no, she was a member of her family, even if Charlie never _did_ get his head out of his arse.

Dean squeezed her shoulder. “Sounds like good advice. Thanks.”

Ginny nodded. She may have even smiled a bit. Dean always knew the right thing to say. But, still, she couldn’t take her eyes off the disappearing platform, even though standing there in the open doorway probably wasn’t safe. She just wanted one more glimpse of her family. But it was too late. They were gone.

“I reckon we should do what she says, then,” Dean said softly and Ginny looked up at him in confusion. “Search the train,” he reminded her.

Right. Search the train. With Adrianna and Remus on the ground, Ginny was probably one of the most capable people on this train in terms of defense, especially after her training this summer. What a terrifying thought. She’d always thought that she’d _want_ to fight if given the chance, but now that the chance was available it was rather horrifying.

Ginny nodded and turned, accepting Dean’s arm as it curved over her shoulder. But once they were inside the train and surrounded by frightened students, instead of pulling out his wand to search the train, Dean drew Ginny aside.

Leaning down, he looked into her eyes and whispered, “We don’t _have_ to do this. We could leave it to the prefects if you want? It _is_ their job.”

So, she looked that incompetent, that pathetically terrified? Well, she wasn’t. Incompetent, anyway. Ginny pulled herself up. She was stronger than this. Or, at least, she was much better at pretending she was strong than this.

Ginny forced herself to remember the spells that she had performed this summer, the shields, the hexes, the wandless magic. She might hate this war, but she was capable of fighting it. Where was that reckless bravery she was known for? She pressed her lips together in a thin smile, reached into her pocket, and presented Dean with her new prefect badge.

“Oh,” he said with a chuckle.

“I suppose I don’t have choice,” Ginny said wryly, pinning the badge to her tee-shirt and clutching her wand. “But you don’t have to if you don’t want to. I can handle myself,” she said with more bravado than she felt. Mustn’t let Dean think it was all right to coddle her, even if she _was_ terrified.

Dean smiled. “Well, Professor Potter said we should search in twos and I wouldn’t want to hack her off. The witches around here are right scary.”

Ginny found herself fighting a smile as she was struck by how unlike Michael Dean was. He was a true Gryffindor. She could fall for a bloke like this. If it weren’t for … crap, she wasn’t going to start thinking about Harry now. This wasn’t the time for a ridiculous love triangle.

“Let’s go then,” Ginny said firmly, pushing Harry out of her mind. But not before she said a silent prayer for his safety.

They didn’t get through half a carriage before Ginny and her boyfriend were trapped in a compartment with three of her roommates, each with a million questions and convinced Ginny had the answers.

Emma and Ella stood in the doorway, blocking their escape. Best friends who liked to pretend they were twins even though one was from a Scottish Muggle family and the other from an influential London wizarding line, they were tedious to say the least, but Ginny found it best to indulge them.

Ella was dumb as a post, but Emma was not _and_ she was a gossip with a mean streak. They both liked Ginny, even looked up to her, which was a position Ginny was careful to foster. But even so, she would have found an excuse to move on to the next compartment quickly, if it weren’t for her third roommate, Bridget.

A genuine girl who Ginny actually _liked_ , Bridget was going completely spare not knowing what was happening on the platform. She had been one of the Muggle-Born at home when the Death Eaters attacked this summer. Her house had gone up in flames, leaving several of her family members hospitalized and Bridget badly burned. Ginny could only see part of the scar on the back of her hand, but it looked quite bad.

Ginny managed to calm the girl down and Dean was doing a lovely job of distracting her with a discussion of what it was like to have Muggle family members in St. Mungo’s when she heard Neville yelling in the hallway.

“Has anyone seen Ginny Weasley? I _need_ to find Ginny Weasley.”

There was a desperation in Neville’s voice that made Ginny’s heart clench and, suddenly, it was difficult to breathe. There was only one reason anyone would need to find _her_. Someone in her family was hurt or … no, not dead. _Please_ , no.

She pushed through her classmates, not caring who was bruised or insulted. Neville stopped abruptly as she stumbled into the aisle in front of him, his eyes wide and afraid.

“What’s going on? What do you need?” Ginny demanded, grabbing hold of his shoulders. When he didn’t answer fast enough, she gave into the urge to shake him. “ _Neville_.” God, she hoped this was typical overreacting Neville bollocks.

“Harry’s cousin,” Neville finally sputtered. “She … she, uh, wants you at the back of the train. She says … she says she needs your help. With healing.”

“Oh,” Ginny breathed, her hands falling from his shoulders. Well, it wasn’t as bad as she’d thought. Someone was hurt, but at least Adrianna was on the train. She turned to go back in the compartment, murmuring, “Let me just—”

But Neville grabbed her elbow, pulling her back. “It’s Harry,” he whispered, sounding as though he were about to burst into tears at any moment. “He’s hurt. _Bad_.”

Ginny’s knees went weak and if it weren’t for Neville’s grip she might have fallen. Bile rose in her throat. Oh god, Harry. This wasn’t happening. Not again.

“I’ll come with you,” Dean immediately offered, placing a hand on her back.

“No,” Ginny protested quickly, _too_ quickly. “I … you need to keep searching the carriages.” She looked at him beseechingly, silently begging him not to argue with her. “You’ll be more help here,” she added lamely.

Dean looked confused, but he nodded. As soon as Ginny saw the slightest sign of acquiescence she turned and began pushing her way to the back of the train. She couldn’t be around Dean now. If Harry was hurt as badly as Neville seemed to think, then she wouldn’t be able to temper her reactions. If Harry was really hurt, she just needed to be with him.

She was running before she realized it, ducking around the people in the hallway, jumping over discarded jackets and bags. “Ginny, wait. I need to show you where they are,” Neville yelled behind her, rushing to catch up.

Ginny ignored him. She had not a shred of doubt that she could find Harry without help. Her only fear was what she would find when she got there. The memory of him collapsed on the kitchen floor of Grimmauld Place was frighteningly vivid. How many times was this going to happen? Harry was in constant danger. Even if he survived this … when he survived this, _when_ … how long before it happened all over again?

Her heart couldn’t take much more. Each time she felt flattened, crushed. Ginny wasn’t as strong as she pretended to be. That was becoming increasingly clear with each incident. Maybe it was for the best that they weren’t dating. If she felt this torn apart when they were friends, how could she bare it if they were _together_? And if Harry were to die …

She ran faster, vaguely aware of the tears pouring down her cheeks. It didn’t matter now. Ginny caught sight of Ron in the aisle, haggard and tousled, but whole, thank god, so she didn’t pause. She kept pushing her way through the crowd. She needed to get to Harry.

Ron yelled out, “First compartment, next carriage.”

Ginny nodded gratefully, but still didn’t slow her pace. If she paused she might collapse and Harry needed her. _She_ needed Harry. She needed to see him, see that he was all right.

She found his carriage easily. And it was immediately clear that he was _not_ all right. With Harry on the floor and Adrianna kneeling over him, Ginny was hit with such a painfully intense sense of deja vu that she had to grab onto the door for support.

Maybe this wasn’t real. Maybe it was a dream or a flashback. But the last time, Harry didn’t have a large piece of glass protruding from his neck. Oh god. She was going to be sick.

“Ginny, thank god,” Adrianna called, her voice yanking Ginny out of the strange fog she was in. “Get in here and lock the door.”

Ginny scrambled to do as she was told, feeling uncoordinated and incompetent, the simple locking charm sticking to her tongue. Before she could turn there was a sudden jolt as the lights flickered and the train shook. She grabbed onto the wall, blinking at the bright flash of blue light illuminating the compartment. “What was _that_?” she gasped.

“Just Hermione putting up a shield. No one can get onto the train now,” Adrianna said quickly, dismissively. “Come here.”

Accepting the explanation and putting it out of her thoughts, Ginny nodded, falling to her knees next to Harry and across from Adrianna. He was so pale and still. For a moment she was sure he was all ready gone. A broken sob escaped her and she clutched her stomach as she bent over him.

Immediately, Adrianna reached over and cupped her chin, forcing Ginny to look at her. “It’s ok. He’s not dead. He’s _not_ dead. But, Ginny …” Just when Ginny was starting to feel better Adrianna’s voice broke, plunging her back into sheer terror. Ginny closed her eyes against the onslaught of tears and leaned into Adrianna’s hand. Please, god. Please. Please.

“Ginny, listen to me. We can fix him, but I … I _need_ you. Harry needs you. You have to calm down. You have to focus. Take a deep breath,” Adrianna entreated and all Ginny could do was nod, a small whimper escaping her lips. Harry needed her. Harry needed her. For now, that was her mantra. She could have her breakdown later.

“We’ll all have breakdowns later, ok? That sounds lovely, actually,” Adrianna agreed, both laughter and tears in her voice. Her fingers fell from Ginny’s face and she took her hand, squeezing it tightly. “You’re not going to like what I have to say, but you need to listen. You _need_ to stay strong.”

Ginny bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood, but she managed to nod, squeezing Adrianna’s hand painfully, and groping for Harry’s. His skin was warm and alive. It gave her the strength she needed.

“Ok. The good news is that this isn’t a magical wound so it can be easily fixed by the right people. The bad news …” Adrianna paused, taking a deep shaky breath and Ginny clutched her hand harder. Please, let her be the _right_ people.

“The bad news is that the wound … the wound is really bad, Ginny. He’s lucky he’s alive.” Ginny’s tears fell faster, her lip trembling. It was difficult to focus. “Gin, _please_ ,” Adrianna begged.

“It’s ok, keep going,” Ginny managed. Though, she knew she was lying and that Adrianna knew it as well.

The older witch smiled regardless. Accepting pretense as fact, Adrianna continued, “A neck wound is very serious. The glass undoubtedly hit his trachea. Do you know what that means?”

Ginny nodded. “It means, he’s bleeding … into his lungs.” Her voice cracked and, suddenly, all her senses became sharper. She could hear, with amazing clarity, every breath Harry took. She could tell that his breathing was harsh and shallow, labored.

“Exactly. We need to get the glass out and the wound closed or … or he might drown.”

Drown in his own blood. Ginny’s stomach clenched, but she forced herself to keep listening. When did they get to the part where they saved him?

“The problem is that I don’t know if the glass hit his jugular too. If it did and the glass is keeping the vein sealed … Ginny, look at me.”

Ginny didn’t realize she had closed her eyes until she again felt Adrianna’s hand on her face. “Ginny, listen carefully. If the glass is in his jugular and we pull it out, we risk giving him an air embolism that will go straight to his heart, killing him instantly.”

“What!” Ginny gasped. She was going to throw up. She was going to faint. Shite, this was _not_ happening. “But … you said we could save him!” she whimpered, hysterical.

Adrianna’s hand tightened on hers. “We _can_ ,” she insisted. Despite her even tone, her eyes were almost feverish. “This is where you come in. Ginny, your natural healing powers are far stronger than mine. Don’t shake your head. They _are_. Listen, this is what we have to do, all right? The Wound Sealing Charm your mother taught you, you’re going to perform that while I pull the glass out.”

“But …” She said that would kill him. “ _No_ , he’ll—”

“I said, _listen_. We’re running out of time. You perform the spell, while I slowly remove the glass. With your talent the vein should seal as soon as the glass slips free and then he’ll have a chance … I mean, then he’ll be fine. We _will_ save him, Ginny. But I _can’t_ do it without you.”

Ginny gritted her teeth and nodded. Harry’s life depended on her. It was hard to believe she could do this, but she had to trust Adrianna. She had no other choice. She wiped the tears from her face with rough strokes of her palm and pulled herself up, grabbing her wand. “Let’s do this then.”

“That’s my girl.” Adrianna smiled widely, then shifted back, pausing briefly to carefully brush the hair off of Harry’s forehead. Her fingers closed around the glass and Ginny could tell it was cutting into her hand. If it hurt, she didn’t let on as she asked, “Ready?”

No. “Yes, go ahead.”

Adrianna nodded. “Start the charm.”

At first, her voice wobbled as Ginny carefully began to recite the words of the charm, but she forced herself to say them clear and loud. Adrianna slowly pulled on the glass and when blood began to seep from the wound, Ginny started to panic. But still, she kept the words coming, her wand waving in precise movements, despite the tears dripping off of her chin.

When the glass was free what was left was an angry looking gash that looked as though it were being held together by an invisible string. “Ok,” Adrianna breathed, throwing the glass aside and letting out a relieved laugh, making Ginny want to do the same. “Well done, Ginny. Oh, thank god. Well done.”

Ginny nodded, taking deep breaths and trying to smile through the tears as she fought the urge to throw herself at Harry. Everything was going to be all right now. Harry was through the danger. At least that was what she tried to convince herself as Adrianna grabbed her Home Healer’s kit and began pulling out the different potions, powders, and salves they would need.

Adrianna explained the purpose of each, while Ginny held Harry’s hand in both of hers and nodded, using all of her strength to concentrate on what Adrianna was saying. “This powder will heal his lungs. Did your mother show you how to turn it into a vapor?” Ginny nodded and she continued, “Good, use this first. Then—”

A harsh scream rang through the train and Adrianna was instantly alert. Closing her eyes, a look of intense concentration settled across her face. Ginny knew she was searching for the emotions that would tell her the source of the cry.

Before Ginny could ask what was going on, Adrianna climbed to her feet. “You can handle the rest. I’m going to Imperturbable the two of you in here until I get back.”

“What!” Ginny gasped, her eyes wide. She grabbed Adrianna’s leg as she tried to pass, crying, “You can’t leave. I can’t do this on my own.”

Adrianna clenched her jaw and crouched down next to her. “I’ve heard those words too many times today. You _can_ do this, Ginny. Better than I can. I’m _counting_ on you.”

With that, she pressed a hard kiss to Ginny’s forehead, then Harry’s. Adrianna was gone before Ginny could come up with one more word of protest. The door glowed blue and Ginny knew Harry’s life was now in her hands.

* * * * *

Author’s Note:

A note on the medical material in this chapter. I took a bit of dramatic license, but overall, I think most of it is rather plausible. When a person’s throat is cut they _do_ die of an air embolism and not blood loss, a fact that I find fascinating and remember very clearly from medical school. However, I’m not a surgeon, so if anyone out there is, I apologize for an inaccuracies.

 


	46. Strange

Harry’s world was dark and heavy.  He felt pain, but it seemed far away somehow.  The only thing he was truly conscious of was the gurgling fullness in his chest.  It robbed his lungs of air, but for some reason that didn’t bother him too much.  Part of him just wanted to let it, to let himself fall into the warm emptiness that beckoned.

But someone was calling him, a soft, musical voice drifting in from a distance.  “Harry.  Wake up, love.” 

It sounded like Ginny.  Ginny calling him “love.”  Mmmm.  That was nice.  Very nice.  Harry sighed, contented with the calming darkness and warm voice and the blissful rest.

“Breathe, love.  You have to breathe this, damn you.” 

His Ginny, sweet and demanding all at once.  Harry thought he might have smiled, but it was hard to tell.  He wasn’t even sure that any of this was real, that _he_ was real.

“Will you _breathe_!”

Harry wasn’t sure what she was yelling about.  As far as he could tell, he _was_ breathing, even if it was with difficulty.  But Ginny wouldn’t stop yelling and it was ruining his rest so he figured he might as well make her happy and do as she asked.  He concentrated on taking a deep breath …

The air tasted sweet.  But it was only pleasant for a moment, then it burned and Harry felt as though he were choking.  A hacking cough tore through him, accompanied by a burst of pain, thrusting him into unfortunate consciousness.  He lurched upward, gasping for breath and wishing for the darkness again.  Damn it!  Why didn’t he just stay asleep?

“Oh Harry, are you all right?  Oh god.”

Right, Ginny.  That’s why.  Harry blinked open his blurry eyes.  It took an absurd amount of time to clear the cob webs enough to at least make out Ginny’s face.  Her hand was on his back, keeping him upright as he gasped for breath. 

It looked as though they were still on the Hogwarts Express, but Ginny wasn’t with him last he remembered.  Though, Harry was having trouble remembering anything at the moment.  They were attacked, weren’t they?  Separated. 

He remembered worrying if she was all right.  Well, she seemed fine. Then he noticed that Ginny was holding a piece of cloth.  It was drenched with blood.  “Is that your blood?” Harry choked out, swallowing.  Shite.  That was a _lot_ of blood.

But Ginny shook her head, whispering, “No.”  Her eyes were fixed across the room and her lips pressed tightly together as she tossed the cloth aside and wiped her hands on her shirt.  “It’s yours.” 

His?  Suddenly, Harry could taste blood on his lips.  Oh.  Wow.  That couldn’t be good.  “What happened?”

“I’m not sure,” Ginny said gently, her voice sounding rough and hoarse.  “Here, sit back.” She guided him so that his back was against the bench.  “But I think it’s safe to say it was Death Eaters.”

Harry nodded as his mind started to clear.  He remembered now. The Death Eater and Colin … but how had the wall been fixed?  And what—

“Breathe this,” Ginny commanded, thrusting a jar beneath his nose and murmuring a spell.  A pink cloud burst from the container and Harry found her request was rather redundant, since he had no choice but to inhale the sweet stuff.  It was the same vapor he had smelled earlier, only it didn’t burn.  Actually, _this_ time, it felt quite warm and lovely. 

His thoughts were just beginning to clear when they fogged over again and Harry blinked his eyes against an onslaught of dizziness.  What _was_ that stuff?  His eyelids felt heavy and sleep beckoned.  Harry didn’t even realize he was listing over until he felt Ginny pulling at his shoulders insistently. 

“Oh, no, you don’t.  Harry.  Don’t you _dare_ pass out on me!  You need to breathe this in for at least … well, I’m not sure how long, but for quite a while.”

She was concerned.  Ginny was _concerned_ about him.  Worried even.  Wasn’t that lovely?  Heavenly, even.  Harry smiled groggily.  Mmm.  When he tried to speak his lips and tongue were uncoordinated and he slurred, “Ok, Ginny, all right.  I’ll stay awake.”  He meant it, too.  He didn’t want to disappoint her.  But, still, he couldn’t help keep himself from sliding further down the seat.  He was just too heavy.

“Oh for god’s sake,” Ginny muttered, clearly exasperated as she wedged herself next to him so that instead of falling onto the floor, Harry slumped over onto her shoulder. 

Well, he wasn’t going to complain about _that_.  “Mmm,” he murmured as he snuggled into her neck.  Peaches, mingling with  the pink cloud of heaven.  Yum.  Everything about this was heaven.  Was there some reason Harry shouldn’t be doing this?  Something he was forgetting?

“Oh, _Harry_ ,” Ginny breathed, letting out a giggle as she held the jar to his face.  He liked it when she giggled.  “What am I going to do with you?” 

Harry had a few suggestions.  Then one of Ginny’s hands slipped into his hair and held him against her.  Scratch that.  He didn’t have any suggestions.  Nope, no suggestions at all.  She could just keep doing _this_ forever and he would die happy.

But why was Ginny being so nice to him?  She hadn’t been this nice to him in weeks.  No, she’d never been _this_ nice to him.  Harry’s eyes slitted open and blurrily fell on the bloody cloth.  Next to it was a blood-spattered piece of glass.  Shite, that must have been what cut him.  Suddenly, everything made sense. 

“I’m dying,” Harry breathed.

“No!” Ginny denied quickly, too quickly. 

Harry was _definitely_ dying.  Why else would Ginny Weasley be embracing him on the floor of the Hogwarts Express?  This morning she wasn’t even speaking to him.  The fogginess, the warmth, the distant throbbing pain in his neck, they all confirmed his suspicion.

“Don’t wanna die, Ginny.”

“Then stop _saying_ it,” she snapped.  “You’re not going to die.” 

Harry didn’t want to make her angry, but when Ginny hugged him tighter, it occurred to him that if this was how he was going to go, it really wasn’t all that bad.  It felt so good being snuggled up to her and he was too tired to be afraid.  He’d always imagined death would be scarier than this.

He pressed his nose to her collarbone and shut his eyes, blocking out the world that was suddenly oddly swirly and wavy.  Ginny and the sweet pink gas were the only things that existed for Harry now. 

“Ginny, if I die, I’m glad I kissed you.”

Her shoulder tensed beneath Harry’s cheek, but only a moment.  Letting out a soft, teary laugh, Ginny insisted, “I told you, you’re _not_ going to die.”

“But if I _do_ ,” Harry murmured, “I’m glad I got to kiss you at least once.”

He thought he heard her sniffle as she pressed her lips into his hair.  That was nice.  Really, really nice.  “And if you _don’t_ die, then you _will_ regret kissing me?” Ginny’s breath ruffled his hair as she spoke.

Harry tried to move his arm to embrace her, but it was so heavy.  “I messed up,” he slurred.  “Don’t want to lose you.  You’re my best friend.”

 “Ron and Hermione are your best friends,” Ginny corrected softly.

Hadn’t they had this conversation before?  It was getting harder and harder to think.  How was he supposed to remember anything?  He started to speak, but his mouth wouldn’t move correctly.  With all his strength, Harry forced out, “You, too.”

It mustn’t have been all that coherent, though.  Ginny tensed and then the sweet smelling vapor was gone.  She grabbed his face, forcing him to turn his head toward her.  She wanted him to look at her, but it was so hard to open his eyes.

“Harry, don’t you dare fade on me!”

“Tired,” he slurred.

“No!  You listen to me, Harry!  You’re my best friend as well.  But if you die, I swear, I’ll _never_ forgive you.  Do you hear me?”

He tried to answer.  When that didn’t work, Harry tried to nod, but that didn’t work either.  Then even thinking was too difficult.  The darkness just got heavier, until finally, there was nothing else. 

When Harry awoke again it was to the sound of sobbing.  He had no idea how much time had passed, but his mouth and head felt as though they were stuffed with cotton and when he opened his eyes all he could see was a curtain of red hair.  Then he realized that Ginny was curled over him, his face pressed against her breast.

Harry’s cheeks immediately warmed with embarrassment, even as he carefully cataloged each scent and sensation.  It wasn’t likely that he would be experiencing quite this brand of heaven again.  Barring more near-death experiences, that was.  Though, now that he thought about it, those _did_ happen rather frequently.

This was a bad one though.  Harry’s mind began to clear and he remembered, oh god, did he really tell Ginny that he was _glad_ he kissed her?  Shite, what was wrong with him?  That bloody pink crap!   It must have done something to him, lowered his inhibitions or something.  Shite.  Shite.  Shite.

Well, at least, she didn’t seem angry when he said it.  But then again, she _did_ think Harry was dying at the time and that usually absolved a multitude of sins.  But she’d also said he was her best friend.  Was that also because she thought he was dying?  What would Ginny say if she realized that he was awake and feeling her up while she wept over him? 

Wow.  She was crying.  It must be because of him, yeah? Given the way she was hugging him, it was a reasonable conclusion.  She must care about him at least.  Maybe she meant what she said about being his friend.  Maybe Harry hadn’t ruined _everything_. 

Not yet anyway.  Who knew what would happen when Ginny realized he was awake and drooling on the breasts he’d been ogling for weeks now?  God, they were fantastic.  And they felt even better than they looked. All right, it was time for Harry to move now.  This had gone on long enough. 

He groaned, hoping it sounded as though he were just waking up.  It must have worked because Ginny froze, sniffling as her weeping died down to a whimper.  “Harry?”

Swallowing, Harry carefully mumbled, “Gin?”  Crap, he was rubbish as an actor.  She’d figure him out straight away.

Ginny sat up, pushing at his shoulders until she could look into his face.  Of course, all Harry could think about was how much he missed the feel of her chest against his face.  He really hoped she couldn’t read _that_ in his expression.

“Are you all right?” she demanded. 

So far, so good.  But Harry barely had time to nod before Ginny was holding a vial to his lips commanding, “Drink.”  She held up three such vials and he obediently swallowed.  Each one tasted more wretched than the last, but by the time he was done, his mind was clear and the energy had returned to his limbs. 

He was fairly certain that this would be the end of Ginny comforting him, but Harry barely had time to wipe his mouth before she yanked him into a tight hug.  “Don’t you _ever_ do that to me again, Harry Potter!  I’ve had quite enough of finding you unconscious on the floor.”

Harry almost laughed.  Both out of relief and because, honestly, of all the times he’d been unconscious on the floor, Ginny had been present for only a small fraction.  It was amazing he didn’t have brain damage.  Maybe he did.  It didn’t matter.  Ginny was embracing him and Harry was going to enjoy it.

“Promise you won’t do it again!” Ginny demanded.  Though, since it was muffled against his shoulder the bite was less.

Harry hid a smile, burying his face in her hair and asking, “Do what?  Get knocked unconscious?”  As much as he might like to, that was hardly a promise he could make. 

“No, you idiot,” Ginny snapped, then ruined the insult by hugging him tighter.  His neck throbbed, but it was worth it.  “Promise you’ll stop almost dying.”

Ah.  Well, that was a promise Harry could make even less.  “Ginny, I can’t—”

“ _Promise_ me!”

Harry sighed.  He didn’t feel like laughing anymore.  Why was life so hard?  “Do you want me to lie?”

“Yes,” Ginny said firmly.

God, Harry wished she was his.  He swallowed a lump in his throat and choked out, “I promise.”

“Promise, you won’t die, either.  No getting out of almost dying by dying, you understand?”

“I understand.  I promise.”  It was crazy logic, but Harry understood. 

Ginny’s hold relaxed after that, but she didn’t pull away and Harry certainly wasn’t going to break the embrace.  He would gladly fight Dean for the right, with fists or wands or whatever.  If only things were that simple. 

But they weren’t and everything finally seemed to be right between Harry and Ginny again.  He did not want to muck this up with his stupid romantic shite.  He just wanted her in his life.  Swallowing, he gathered his courage and, half-hoping she wouldn’t hear, he asked against shoulder, “Did you mean what you said about being my friend?”

Ginny sniffed and gave a small almost-laugh.  “I meant it.  I’ll _always_ be your friend, Harry.”

He started to relax.  Then something occurred to him.  “You’re not lying, are you?”

She laughed out right this time.  “No.  I’m not lying.” 

Smiling against Ginny’s skin, Harry closed his eyes.  He was determined to enjoy this moment, to breathe in the scent of peaches and smoke and sweat, and to feel her hair stroking his face.  It wasn’t until then that he realized he didn’t have his glasses on.  No wonder everything looked blurry. 

Harry didn’t ask Ginny if she’d seen them.  He didn’t pull away to look for them.  It didn’t matter.  What _did_ matter was finding out exactly how long Ginny would hold him before pulling away.  It was baffling that she hadn’t already.  But she showed no signs of being uncomfortable.  In fact, her hands were strong and sure on his back. 

What did that mean?  Would Ginny break up with Dean for him?  It would make things uncomfortable in Harry’s dorm, but, hey, he’d gladly handle that. Though, there was the whole danger thing that he kept forgetting about.  It was selfish for Harry to want her for himself when she was safer with Dean.

Harry was probably reading too much into this, regardless.  Ginny _had_ said he was her best friend.  Hermione would probably suffocate him if she were here.  Ron would have to pry her off of him.

Harry just had to get used to the idea that he was friends with Ginny and that was all.  He was lucky to have that, all things considered.  Though, friends didn’t enjoy embraces _quite_ this much.  The noble thing to do would be to pull away. Ah, to hell with that.  He’d almost died.  He’d be noble later.

They held each other for quite a while longer.  Harry was actually beginning to wonder if he _should_ say something, when Ginny abruptly pulled back, pushing him from her and leaving him feeling as though he were something foul and untouchable.  His stomach sank. 

Harry heard the door click and he squinted.  Ginny’s horrified expression came into focus … fuck.  “ _Accio wand!_ ”  He turned his head so quickly that his neck screamed out it pain.  “Argh!” he cried, grabbing his throat with both hands, his newly acquired wand pressed against the abused skin.

“Harry!” a voice called, from the general vicinity of the door. 

Adrianna.  Thank god.  Harry could barely comprehend the relief he felt as his cousin fell to her knees in front of him.  He didn’t have to be strong anymore.  She’d take care of everything.

“Careful there,” Adrianna admonished, panting as though she’d just run a mile. Gently, she pulled Harry’s hand away from his neck and examined the wound.  When she sighed with relief, he knew everything would be all right.  “It looks good.  Fine work, Ginny.”

Harry tried to turn and see Ginny’s response, but Adrianna held his face still as she looked him over.  “You scared us to death, you know.  Here.”  She placed his glasses over the bridge of his nose and leaned in to give him a hard kiss on the forehead, explaining, “I took them earlier so they wouldn’t get broken.”

His vision came into focus, destroying the last of the lovely dream-like unreality that he’d had with Ginny and forcing him to take in Adrianna’s very real appearance.  Her hair was falling out of the plaits she wore, her face streaked with the black residue of explosive spells and dark reddish streaks that were probably drying blood, most likely his. 

Adrianna looked frightening.  She also looked ridiculously happy that he was all right.  Harry smiled back at her.  Sometimes it just hit him.  He had a family.

 _Then_ he became aware of Ginny speaking behind him.  “No.  No.  I’m fine.  It wasn’t really all that big a thing.  Really,” she insisted.  But who was she trying to convince?

“That’s not what I hear.”

Dean.  Shite.  That happy feeling in Harry’s chest, well, that was pretty much the end of that.  It was squashed, crumpled up, and set on fire as he turned to see Ginny in his roommate’s arms.  Clenching his teeth to keep a sneer or, even worse, a possessive growl from emerging, Harry averted his eyes and moved closer to Adrianna. 

What was that tosser doing in here anyway?  Harry was the one who almost died.  Shouldn’t he get to decide who was in _his_ compartment?  Like visiting rules at the hospital or something?

“What you did was brilliant, Ginny,” Dean praised.  Pansy-arsed creep.  “Neville said Harry was practically _dead_.”

Harry winced at Dean’s incredibly insensitive and obvious exaggeration, while Adrianna stroked his back soothingly.  Well, it would take a damn sight more than _that_ to soothe him, the bloody prat had his hands all over Harry’s _best friend_. 

“It’s true,” Neville piped in from the doorway, announcing his presence.  It took Harry a minute to realize Neville was agreeing with Dean’s assessment of Harry’s health and not Harry’s thoughts that their mutual roommate should keep his ruddy hands to himself. “I can’t believe it, Harry.  You … I was really scared.”

Why did people keep saying that?  Was it really _that_ bad?  “I feel fine,” Harry argued, then realized for the first time how hoarse his voice sounded.  The pain in his neck was actually getting worse.  That pink stuff must be wearing off.  Everything was clear now. Unfortunately.  Like the way Dean was embracing Ginny and pressing a kiss …

Harry averted his eyes for a second time, wishing for the mind-numbing gas back.  He still had no idea why the hell the poncy wanker had come in with Adrianna anyway.  Who the hell was _he_?

“Dean, why are you here?” Ginny asked and Harry bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling.  Ha!  She didn’t want him here either.  This was _their_ moment.  Dean could just sod off.  “I mean, you didn’t have to come looking for me.  You were on the other side of the train.”  And should have stayed there.  Bloody prat.

“We, uh, we had a bit of trouble.” 

Trouble?  He missed his girlfriend and wanted a snog trouble, or Death Eater trouble?   Adrianna’s expression was grave as she nodded and responded to Harry’s thoughts, “Death Eater trouble.  This time masquerading as students.”

“They weren’t masquerading,” Neville quickly interjected.  Then, seeming to realize that he had just contradicted an adult, his eyes went wide and he stammered, “Sorry.  I mean, I …” But Adrianna was more amused than angry and eventually Neville actually completed his sentence.  “I mean they _were_ students, seventh-years, Slytherins with newly-acquired Dark Marks.”

“They pretty much had the whole carriage at their mercy,” Dean went on, just about _stealing_ the story from Neville, the arrogant arse. “That is until Adrianna showed up.” 

Harry almost gagged.  Dean made him sick.  Who did he think he was calling Adrianna by her first name?  She was _Professor_ Potter to him.  Bloody wanker.  Even worse than Charlie. 

He barely listened to the rest of the story.  It was something ridiculous about the Slytherins trying to use the Imperious on too many people at once.  They sounded like bumbling idiots to Harry.  He, Ron, and Hermione could have subdued them _without_ an Auror.  Damn poncy git, not good enough for Ginny.

“Long story short,” Adrianna cut in, both on the story and Harry’s increasingly angry thoughts.  “There is nothing to worry about.  The two of them are unconscious and sealed in a compartment, tussled like pigs for good measure.  They’ll be off to Azkaban as soon as we reach the station.”

Azkaban.  Damn.  Harry was sitting there worrying about Dean and there were Death Eaters attending Hogwarts.  What the hell was wrong with him?  See, this was the very reason why he had decided not to fall in love with Ginny in the first place.  Fuck.  That _should_ have been an easy task to accomplish while she was dating Dean.  It wasn’t going very well.

Trying to focus on more important things than petty jealousy, Harry asked, “Has the rest of the train—?”

“Harry!”

He jerked his eyes up as Ron came barreling into the compartment, Colin just behind him.  Ron seemed to almost sag with relief as his eyes fell on Harry.  Adrianna moved back as Harry’s best mate came to kneel in front of him. 

Ron was a mess, panting for breath, and wiping sweat from his eyes, but he was grinning as well.  “All right, mate?” he asked.

Sometimes, Harry wondered if he subconsciously kept getting himself hurt because he loved everyone’s reaction.  “All right,” Harry replied, grinning back like a fool.

Ron let out a long breath, shaking his head and clapping Harry on the shoulder.  “Fuck, mate, I …” He cringed as soon as the words left his mouth.  Seeming to realize that he had just cursed in front of a professor, he turned to look sheepishly at Adrianna.

But she shrugged, looking completely disinterested in such matters.  “You don’t think _I_ care, do you?”

Everyone was silent at that, looking at her in confusion.  Harry wondered if he should tell her it was her job to care, but somehow, he thought that would only make her teach them ever more creative and obscure swear words.  Between her innate rebelliousness and her obvious dislike for Dumbledore, it was going to be an interesting year.

Colin, being Colin, ignored the tension and got on with the conversation, “I just can’t believe you’re conscious, Harry.  I thought you were dead for sure.”

Well, Harry had had his fill of _this_ discussion.  “I’m fine,” he insisted, trying to stand.

“Careful,” Adrianna admonished, reaching for him, but Ron was faster, wrapping an arm around Harry’s waist and guiding him to the bench.

“Sorry we lost the cushions,” Ron said softly as they sank gracelessly onto the hard wooden seat.

“They went out the hole in the wall,” Colin explained immediately, gesturing his head toward the window.  So, there _was_ a hole.  Harry was starting to think it was a hallucination or something.  “Before Ron closed it, that is,” Colin continued.  “It was so cool.  Most wicked transfiguration I’ve ever seen.  _So_ much better than turning porcupines into pincushions.”

Harry’s eyes flew over to Ron, who was blushing and looking down.  Scratching his head, Ron cast shy glances at Adrianna and Harry.  “I just used _Furia Coutore_.  It’s not so … I can’t even believe it worked.”

“I can,” Adrianna said with a smile as she lounged in the seat across from them, making Ron blush an even deeper shade of red. 

Harry felt guilty for having ever been jealous of Ron’s newfound transfiguration abilities.  They needed every skill they could get.  _All_ their lives depended on it.  Besides, Ron deserved this. 

“Good show, mate,” Harry forced himself to say, blushing furiously and looking at his knees as he did so.  Ron nodded, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.  He was grinning though.

“Seriously,” Colin began, “what did you _do_ this summer?  I never saw anything like the way Harry threw that Death Eater.  Then Ron does transfiguration well beyond the N.E.W.T. level and now Ginny’s a genuine Healer ...” 

Harry’s eyes found Ginny.  She didn’t look all that comfortable sitting on the bench next to Dean, but when she met Harry’s eyes, she smiled.  Was he mad to think it was just for him? 

“And what was it you said Hermione did?” Colin asked, looking at Ron, who opened his mouth, but then shrugged and turned his eyes to Adrianna. 

 “The _Enormita_.  It’s like an Imperturbable around the whole train,” Adrianna explained.  Then before Colin could prattle on even more, she turned back to Ron and asked, “Is the front of the train secure?”

Ron nodded, rubbing the back of his neck.  “As far as I can tell.  We did have a bit of trouble with some Slytherins.  I—”

“Oh thank goodness!” Hermione gasped, bursting into the room.  “I’ve been looking everywhere.  Is everyone all right?”

Harry couldn’t help but smile when he thought of everything Hermione had missed.  “Fine,” he replied lightly, sharing a secret smile, first with Ginny, then Adrianna.

Ron sat forward, looking as though he wanted to greet Hermione, or, more accurately, grab and snog the living daylights out of her.  She didn’t look as though she’d mind either. 

After scanning each of them, presumably for signs of injury, Hermione’s eyes settled on Ron and didn’t stray.  She held herself tense, shifting nervously on her feet.  She was probably praying he would go to her, which he _obviously_ wanted to do, so Harry couldn’t understand why—

Then Seamus appeared behind Hermione.  Bloody hell.  Ron stiffened, looking away. Hermione wilted and the moment was gone. Goddamn it!  Why couldn’t their prat roommates find their own girls?  At this rate, the only one Harry and Ron would be speaking to was Neville.

Hermione let out a small puff of a breath, blinking rapidly as her eyes focused on the ceiling.  Shite, if she started to cry, Harry was going to have to punch someone.  Though, he couldn’t decide whether it should be Seamus or Ron.  Ron probably deserved it more, but Harry would far prefer to pummel Seamus.

“So,” Hermione said, her eyes now on the side of Ron’s face, “I, uh, ran into the new Head Boy.  Ron, we should probably change and go to the meeting—”

“Oh no, no, no, _no_!” Adrianna burst in, her tone so horrified that one might have thought Hermione had suggested a small orgy instead of an administrative meeting.  “I’m not having five-hundred students running around changing while the only semblance of leadership in this place is all in _one_ cabin.  No way!  Where is this Head Boy person?”

“He … the prefects are gathered just down the—”

“Goddamn it!” Adrianna bit out, making Harry wonder if Dumbledore was going to have more of a problem with her swearing than her allowing the students to swear.  “Tell them to come here.”  Hermione just gaped at her until Adrianna finally snapped, “ _Now,_ Hermione.”

The young witch nodded, scrambling out the door.  Hermione didn’t even acknowledge Seamus as she pushed past him, into the aisle.  Of course, Ron didn’t see _that_.  He was too busy brooding.

Seamus didn’t seem to notice the significance either.  He shrugged casually, looking disgustingly chipper as he moved to sit next to Dean, while Adrianna muttered irritably about the “unbelievably poor security” on this train.

When the prefects started arriving, Adrianna waved her wand, casually tripling the size of the compartment.  Ron frowned.  Leaning toward Harry, he muttered softly, “See.  Closing a little hole is nothing.”

Something really needed to be done about Ron’s self-esteem.  “Mate, I _saw_ that hole.  It wasn’t little.  You were brilliant.”

But Ron’s expression didn’t change.  He glanced at the spot where Hermione had disappeared out the door, then over at Seamus.  “Not brilliant _enough_ , apparently.”

“Ron—”

Harry was prevented (or saved) from having to convince Ron of how stupid he was being by Adrianna.  She snapped her fingers at them, calling, “Listen up.”

By then, there were another twenty people in the room.  Hermione was back, looking nervous and a bit out of breath.  But it was Malfoy who captured Harry’s attention as he pushed his way to the front of the group, looking put out and eager to cause trouble. 

Great.  Harry let his head fall back.  The last thing he needed was to be stuck in the middle of a prefect meeting with Draco Malfoy.  Wasn’t Harry supposed to be recovering?  Shouldn’t he be coddled or something?

“You kids the leaders of this school?” Adrianna demanded, standing with her shoulders stiff and her arms crossed.  There was a chorus of nods.  “Good.  At the moment, this train is not part of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.  It is a military vessel under my control—”

“Under _whose_ authority?” Malfoy burst out, outrage in his voice.  Stupid prick.  He had no idea who he was dealing with.  Adrianna would tear him to pieces.  Come to think of it, maybe being in the middle of a prefect meeting was _exactly_ what Harry needed.

Adrianna looked Malfoy over carefully, her lips twisting in distaste.  “Whose bright idea was it to give _you_ a prefect badge?”

“Dumbledore approves all badges,” Malfoy answered immediately, pulling himself up with his usual arrogance.  Interesting how the prick invoked the Headmaster’s name when it suited him, even though Harry knew Malfoy had no love for Dumbledore.  Would it undo all the work Ginny put into his neck if Harry wiped that smug look off his pasty weasel face?

Adrianna grunted, her eyes narrowing in anger. “Yes, Dumbledore’s really shinning today, isn’t he?  First, the security on this train, now you.” 

There were several gasps of outrage at her blatant disrespect.  It made Harry horribly uncomfortable.  He would never tolerate that sort of disparaging remarks toward the Headmaster from anyone else.  But Harry wasn’t quite over Dumbledore’s interference in their family himself so he said nothing.

Malfoy, however, was too stupid to keep his mouth shut and challenged Adrianna once again, “You can’t take over this train.  You’re not even British—”

“I am international Auror, which gives me the authority to commandeer any wizarding vessel, anywhere, anyhow, you got that?”

Apparently, he didn’t, because Malfoy continued to argue, “You—”

The rage on Adrianna’s face might be because of Dumbledore, but she seemed to have no problem directing it at Malfoy. “Then let me make myself perfectly clear, you little twit.  I have the authority to lock you in Azkaban or a dozen other international prisons on your thoughts _alone_.  Don’t push me or I’ll snap that wand of yours in two and I assure you, _no one_ will question me.”

There was a tense, frightened silence after that, which Harry rather enjoyed.  He looked next to him, hoping to share his glee with Ron, but his best mate didn’t seem to be able to enjoy anything right now.  His eyes were permanently fixed on Hermione’s dirty, sandal covered ankles.  Ginny, on the other hand, was biting her lip, giggles threatening to erupt.  Harry met her gaze and they shared a grin.

Clearing her throat, Hermione carefully called out, “Er, Professor Potter.  You, um, also have authority as Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts.  You’re in charge of this train regardless.  And, well, generally, when a student misbehaves or is disrespectful, a Professor takes away house points or gives detention, er, before they send the student to Azkaban.”

Adrianna rolled her eyes, throwing Hermione a long suffering look.  “Whatever.”

In the stunned silence that followed, it was easy to hear Pansy Parkinson hissing in Malfoy’s ear, “You said the werewolf was teaching again.”

 “Double the professors, double the classes, double the fun.  Now shut up and listen!”  Adrianna barked and no one questioned her this time.  “This train is sealed.  No one can get on, no one can get out.  It’s also been searched, but that doesn’t mean there couldn’t be a clever Death Eater still lurking inside, or, more likely, a _misguided_ student planning on giving us trouble.” 

She gave Malfoy and Parkinson a hard look before continuing.  “You will split up.  I want at least one of you in each compartment.  No one changes clothing, no one leaves their compartment unless they need to use the bath—loo, and then, they should be escorted.  Hermione, you patrol the back of the train and provide the necessary escorts.  Ron, take the front.  Ginny, the middle.  Any questions?”

“Yeah, er ...” A tall Hufflepuff boy with a shiny Head Boy badge stepped forward.  “Shouldn’t the Head Girl and Boy be the ones patrolling the aisles—”

“Do I know from Merlin?  Have you spent the summer training in Defense?” Adrianna demanded and the Head Boy could only shake his head, taking a small step back.  “Then, no, you shouldn’t.  Now do as I say and _go_!” 

As the group scrambled to leave, Adrianna gave one last hard look at Malfoy and Parkinson, calling out, “By the way, you have full permission to use whatever means necessary to do your job.  But don’t bother lying to me.  I’m _real_ good at detecting liars.”

Harry’s enjoyment of the situation quickly faded as Ron and Hermione filed out of the room and he realized, once again, he was being left behind.  He felt a particular loss as Ginny stood to follow.  At least he wouldn’t have to watch Dean grope her anymore. 

He frowned as Colin got up as well and threw the younger boy a questioning look.  Smiling sheepishly, Colin reached into his pocket and pulled out a prefect badge.  Great.  One minute everyone was looking to Harry to lead them out of a crisis, the next Colin Creevey was getting more recognition as a leader than he was. And, as if that wasn’t bad enough, he was stuck here with Seamus and _Dean,_ the bloody—

“You two,” Adrianna snapped, turning to Seamus and Dean and making them jump, “don’t let that Malfoy brat out of your sight.”

They rushed to obey, leaving only Harry, Neville, and Adrianna left in the compartment.  Harry’s cousin winked as she sat next to him, letting him know that the dismissal of his roommates was for his benefit.  Harry smiled and relaxed.  He knew it was wrong, but after years of Snape unfairly favoring the Slytherins it felt good to have someone who wasn’t afraid of favoring _him_.

Adrianna placed her arm around his shoulders, saying soothingly, “Here, take a nap, Harry.  It will help you heal.”

“You’re going to be accused of favoritism, you know.” Harry warned, even as he laid his cheek on her shoulder.

“Yeah, well, I’ve been accused of worse.”

“I bet you have.”

Harry picked his head back up as he heard a deep voice from the door, smiling widely as Professor Lupin strolled in, looking slightly scruffier than usual, but mostly unharmed.  Lupin gave Neville a reassuring pat as he sat next to the beaming young wizard.

“You’re one to talk, Remus,” Adrianna quipped, kicking her legs up onto the opposite seat.  “Just because I was a child doesn’t mean I don’t remember how things were when Uncle James was around.”

Remus’ clearly feigned look of innocence made Harry chuckle. “Got on all right, Professor?” he asked, enjoying using the title again.  

“Barely,” Remus drawled wryly.  “That’s some spell Hermione put up. I ran into Ron in the front of the train.  It seems the troupes are in order, General.” He nodded at Adrianna and winked at Harry as he said it.  Harry grinned, relaxing back against Adrianna’s shoulder and feeling her shrug. “Ron also told me that you got into a bit of a scrape, Harry.”

“Just my usual, Professor,” Harry replied lightly, feeling lethargy set in again.  He could feel the vibrations of Adrianna’s resulting chuckle against the side of his face

Neville, however, was a bit horrified by this joke.  “Harry, you were _impaled_.”

“Ah.  I see. So the usual, then,” Remus replied with a dry humor of his own.  “You look rather well for someone who was impaled.”

Harry smiled proudly, feeling his eyelids grow heavy.  “Ginny.”  She was amazing.

Remus whistled.  “Shaping up to be quite a Healer, isn’t she?”

“Mmhm,” Adrianna hummed her agreement.  “She has Molly’s talent.”

“Better not let Mrs. Weasley, hear you say that, ‘Drana,” Harry murmured.  “She might think you actually like her.”

“I do like Molly,” Adrianna replied easily, as if it were obvious.  Harry had to raise his head to give her an appropriately incredulous look.  “What?  Charlie wanted me to like her far too much for me to give him the satisfaction of knowing I actually did.”

Harry’s jaw dropped. All this time he’d been blaming Charlie for accusing Adrianna of antagonizing his mother, been annoyed with Mrs. Weasley for giving her a hard a time, and Adrianna _was_ doing it on purpose.  She didn’t look contrite about it, either.

Remus’ laughter rang out and Harry could only shake his head in disbelief before relaxing once again, and allowing himself drift off to the comforting sounds of their voices.

* * * * *

By the time Ginny walked up the front steps of Hogwarts Castle she was exhausted and emotionally drained.  With one hand, she held the hand of a traumatized first-year, a little girl who could do nothing but stare blankly, her eyes wide, her face sweaty and streaked with dried tears.  On her other side, Dean stood close, his arm loosely draped around her shoulders.

As conflicted as Ginny felt about Dean, at the moment, his presence was a welcome comfort.  He was calm and steady, brave as the situation warranted, yet he didn’t have a reckless need to save the world, a drive to put himself perpetually in the worst sort of danger.  Dean _could_ be a hero, if the situation required it of him.  Harry _was_ a hero.  It was in his soul.

And just now, it was nice to stand next to Dean, without the attention and the near death experiences.  It gave Ginny an opportunity to catch her breath.  When she thought about everything that had happened today … she couldn’t believe it, couldn’t believe what her life had become.  She’d been warned, she thought she knew what was coming, but the reality was beyond chilling.  They were at war.  Anyone could be attacked, anytime.   _Anyone_ , even children.

First the Department of Mysteries, then the massive attacks on Muggle-borns just weeks ago, now the Hogwarts Express and suddenly, Ginny was fighting a war.  This was her life now, a series of battles, each worse than the last.  When would her luck run out?  How long before someone she loved died?  How long before Harry—

Ginny bit her lip.  Hard.  She would not think this way!  Harry would not die.  He couldn’t.  All of wizardkind needed him.  _She_ needed him.  Her insides were torn to shreds when he’d slumped in her arms just hours ago.  It would have felt even worse if they were together.  Shite.  Was it even possible to have felt _worse_? 

Regardless, this experience made it crystal clear what life as Harry Potter’s girlfriend would be like.  It would be one of gut-wrenching fear and hospital vigils.  At least Ginny could have _some_ semblance of normality with Dean.  For a little while anyway.

But if Ginny was _Harry’s_ girlfriend, then _she_ would be the one next to him, pressed up close, her arm around his waist.  She would be the one fussing over him, not Hermione.  And despite it all, her desire to take his best friend’s place was intense.  And her jealousy, however irrational, was very real.

Hermione didn’t learn about Harry’s _incident_ until after they had reached Hogsmeade Station.  A fact that led to squeals of rage from his best friend, who was absolutely “outraged” that she hadn’t been told “immediately.”

Hermione hadn’t left Harry’s side since, a fact that left Harry rather irritable.  Or maybe his agitation was due entirely to the fact that he obviously wanted to take a more active role in protecting the group.  Couldn’t expect him to forget his hero shite just because he’d been impaled, could they? 

But Hermione’s mothering appeared to make Adrianna happy, at least, as it allowed her to direct her undivided attention to her self-appointed role as General.  Ginny wasn’t exaggerating either.  The entire student body had been transformed into a rag-tag army and, somehow, Ginny’d been drafted into the upper ranks.

She had no idea how she felt about _that_ particular development.  If Ginny had been left out or overlooked she would have been outraged.  But it was rather scary to have people, sometimes even older students, looking to her for what to do. 

When they’d stepped off the train and met a frazzled Hagrid, he was quickly informed by General Potter, “There’s no way in hell I’m letting a single student out of my sight.  And you think you’re taking the youngest?  Over my dead body.”

So, the boats were left empty and the carriages jammed full as Hagrid stayed behind to guard their adolescent Death Eaters while waiting for a team of Auror’s to arrive.  Again, the prefects were in charge, but somehow Ginny seemed to outrank the Head Girl and Head Boy.  She was consistently being asked to mediate conflicts and tell people what to do.  It was bloody exhausting.

Adrianna, Remus, and Ron, poor bastard, rode Thestrals alongside the carriages, guarding the road, because, as their General was quick to point out, there was nothing to keep a Death Eater from walking to the school.  Ginny rather thought their foolish pureblood pride would keep them from doing just that, but she kept that particular opinion to herself.

Her unfortunate brother had a rough time of it.  He was the only one who couldn’t see the beast he was riding, a fact that gave Ginny some comfort (and only a tiny giggle).  At least she and her brother had managed to maintain _that_ particular innocence.  It was quite an accomplishment considering.

Ron had looked dazed and completely unaware of why he would be given such an important task.  How much responsibility did he have to shoulder before he realized he could handle it?  There was a reason why Adrianna, and Dumbledore for that matter, kept choosing him for leadership positions and it wasn’t _just_ because Harry was frequently unconscious.

Her brother got a handle on things eventually.  It was surreal, watching the boy Ginny had played with since she was in nappies, sitting there, on an invisible beast, his back straight as he surveyed the road, as tall and as proud as any knight, worthy of King Arthur’s Court.  Damn, she was waxing poetic tonight.  She really _must_ be exhausted.

Even so, when they finally stepped into the grand entrance hall at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Ginny was able to find humor in the expression on McGonagall’s face when her students, usually so calm and organized, perfectly groomed in their identical robes, swarmed the entrance, instead, wearing various amounts of Muggle clothing, torn, tattered and dirty, looking all in all as though they’d walked straight through hell to get there.  So, it rather accurately depicted the situation.

“Wha … what happened?” their most dignified professor sputtered, her hand clutching her chest and her eyes wide. 

Adrianna walked toward McGonagall with a scowl on her face and a cluster of clinging first-years surrounding her.  “We were attacked,” Adrianna drawled sarcastically.  “Didn’t you hear?”

“Of course, we _heard_ ,” Professor McGonagall quickly defended, but judging from the look on her face it was clear that she had no idea how bad it really was.  “We knew King’s Station was attacked, but surely everyone was all right once—they didn’t attack the train as well?”

For all their wretchedness, no one looked worse than Adrianna.  The residue of powerful spells streaked her face, along with dust, sweat, and unmistakable residue of dried blood.  Harry’s blood.  Her hair was falling out of her plaits, but when she looked McGonagall her eyes never wavered.  “Yup.” 

“My word, is everyone all right?” 

But when the dignified Professor asked the question, Adrianna merely threw her a “what-the-hell-does-it-look-like?” expression and walked past her, into the Great Hall.  The Deputy Headmistress did not look at all pleased when the whole scruffy lot of them followed, without bothering to clean up first.  But no one seemed to care what her position on the matter was. 

Poor Professor McGonagall, she didn’t understand that they were still working under military rule here.  Ginny cast her a brief glance as she passed her, grateful to see Lupin approach her with a sympathetic expression.  Perhaps he could explain matters. 

Inside, Dumbledore was standing in the front of the Hall, as he always was at the beginning of the Great Feast, his welcoming expression identical to the one Ginny had seen on his face the four years prior.  His posture gave no indication that there was anything unusual going on.

The look on Adrianna’s face when she first saw him was quite frightening.  The fact that she felt Dumbledore was to blame for the lack of security on the train was not something she put much effort into hiding and she hadn’t been acting all that stable to begin with.  All the fear and high emotions must be driving her mad. 

Ginny’s eyes instinctively found Harry in the crowd.  He wouldn’t like the tension between his two mentors.  Hermione was holding his arms tightly, ready for him to bolt.  Ginny had to look away as jealousy threatened to choke her.

“Sit!” Adrianna commanded, in that booming voice that the students were already used to jumping to.  This time, however, they froze.

“But we have to be sorted into our Houses,” one young girl said, her hand fisted in Adrianna’s shirt as she looked up at her with wide eyes.  “Mummy says.  How else will we know where to sit?”

With a small frustrated grunt, Adrianna squeezed her eyes shut and took a deep breath, saying wearily, “Just sit anywhere.  Houses don’t matter.”

A rumble swept through the crowd.  Her words were no less than sacrilege.  Hogwarts had run this way for a thousand years; tradition couldn’t be so easily dismissed.  But Dumbledore’s voice rose above the chatter, quickly silencing it.  “Please, do sit.  Professor Potter is quite right.  Our divisions are irrelevant.  In times such as these we must band together.”

If Dumbledore thought to mollify Adrianna by agreeing with her, he was to be disappointed.  Adrianna actually seemed more irritated and, still, no one moved, just stood, waiting for only god knew what.  An explosion, perhaps.  Ginny wasn’t sure, but her legs hurt and she was tempted to sit, right there, on the cold stone floor.

Then Ron, who, being a good First Lieutenant, had stayed close to his General, cleared his throat, saying clearly and calmly, “Come on, kids.  Let’s sit.”  He ushered the crowd of first-years to the front of the Hall and into seats at the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw tables. Ron’s actions released the tension and students quickly moved to find the nearest seat, leaving a wide girth around Dumbledore and Adrianna as they did so. 

Ginny waved the first-year, whose hand she was still holding, off to find a seat with the rest of her class, but, despite her exhaustion, Ginny stood her ground.  Harry and Hermione did the same.  Ginny didn’t know why, maybe the officers instinctively knew they weren’t to sit until their General did.  Even Ron was standing, arms crossed, towering over the first-years.

Once everyone was seated, or at least still, Dumbledore smiled at Adrianna, announcing, “You will be pleased to know that no student was harmed at King’s Station.  Fine work, Professor.” 

“Really,” Adrianna replied, her voice thick with sarcasm, “you have an interesting definition of _harmed_ then.  Or maybe we just weren’t so lucky _on_ the train.  It’s a miracle no one’s dead, considering that train had absolutely no security.”

“On the contrary, my dear,” Dumbledore countered with a smile and a bit of a bounce on his heals.  He seemed quite proud of himself.  “I had the very best security.  I had an Auror _and_ an Empath on that train.  I had you.”

Ginny winced, fighting the urge to avert her eyes.  Adrianna’s mouth dropped open and Ginny could see her face turn red despite the layers of grime.  For such a brilliant man, Dumbledore somehow seemed to always say the worst possible thing to Adrianna.  The Empath made it clear that she resented being used for her powers.  This was just the sort of thing to push her over the edge. 

Dean squeezed Ginny’s shoulder, but her eyes were on Harry.  She wished it was her hands holding him, rubbing soothing circles on his back. 

Remus came up behind Adrianna and put a hand on her arm, whispering something in her ear.  Adrianna only shook her head, but _he_ must have said something right, because instead of exploding she just snapped, “Fine.  But if you want me to take over security, we do it my way.”

Dumbledore smile broadened, his motivations a complete and utter mystery to anyone but himself.  “Lovely.”

Adrianna let out a low snarl-like noise, before biting out, “These kids need food and water.  They need to be checked out by a Healer, starting with Harry.”  She pushed around the Headmaster and she stalked to the front of the room.  “He was impaled.”

Ginny cringed.  She was quite tired of that word.  Professor McGonagall gasped, evidently equally horrified by Adrianna’s choice of phrase.  Her face white, McGonagall’s hand flew to her mouth and she instinctively stepped closer to Harry.  He brought the protective instincts out in a lot of people.  Madam Pomfrey was already out of her seat and hurrying towards him.

But the drama wasn’t over.  Snape, it seemed, wasn’t content to stay out of the fray and stepped into Adrianna’s path before she could reach the front of the Hall.  What was the slimy git trying to prove?  Adrianna was a poorly corked Blast Potion, ready to blow at any moment.

Remus, playing self-appointed referee, quickly tried to step between them, saying in a low dangerous tone, “Severus—”

But Adrianna cut Remus off, snapping at Snape, “What the hell do you want?”  Ginny stifled a giggle.  If Adrianna was going to explode, it might as well be at Snape.

The Potion Master’s lip curled into a sneer.  “I’m missing two students—”

“If you mean the two mini-Death Eaters, they’re being shipped off to Azkaban as we speak.”

Snape stepped even closer, glaring down at her, clearly determined to show, he, at least, wasn’t intimidated by her.  “Professor Potter, I know you are used to people bowing to your ridiculous whims, but that will _not_ happen here.”

Remus tried to pull Adrianna back from Snape, but she shrugged him off.  “Don’t mess with me today, Severus.  _Your_ students caused me more problems than the Death Eaters did.  Tomorrow, we’re having a serious discussion about the whole damn House, particularly about who gets a prefect badge.”  With that, she bodily shoved Snape aside, announcing, “I need a drink.”

“Let’s get you one then,” Remus said soothingly, managing to, simultaneously, not sound condescending _and_ control the laughter in his voice, as he took Adrianna’s elbow and escorted her to the head table.

Adrianna allowed herself to be led, the words “goddamn cowards, attacking children,” floating behind her.

Well, that just about said everything, didn’t it?  Dean let out a small muffled chuckle beside her and Ginny met Harry’s eyes.  He had a relieved droop to his shoulders and a goofy grin across his face.  They’d probably be celebrating their victory over the Slytherins if it weren’t for the whole almost-dying-absolutely-nowhere-is-safe thing.  Somehow, the impaling part made Adrianna telling off Snape less fun.

Madam Pomfrey grabbed Harry’s arm and pushed him into the nearest seat, which just happened to be at the Ravenclaw table.  Ginny took Dean’s hand and led him to the table next to them, so she could sit on the bench across from Harry and watch the Healer work. 

Hopefully, Dean wouldn’t think it was about anything more than friendship.  After all, Ginny _had_ been the one to heal Harry.  She had a right to see if she’d done the charms correctly.

Her boyfriend didn’t seem to mind.  At all.  It was strange how _un_ suspicious Dean was.  He didn’t have that jealousy streak Ginny was so accustomed to seeing in blokes.  Perhaps it came with the reckless trait.

It worked to her advantage though, so she wasn’t about to complain.  Ginny didn’t want anyone suspecting anything was going on between her and Harry or, god forbid, finding out about the kiss.  If they did, it would be almost impossible to spend time with Harry without fueling the gossip mill.  And Ginny planned on maintaining their friendship.  No matter _what_ the cost.

Madam Pomfrey crouched down in front of Harry as she examined his neck, a frown firmly etched across her severe features.  She had deep frown lines and rough skin.  Is that what being a Healer did to a person?  Ginny could see how it could happen, what with all the blood and the choking and immanent death.  What a wretched existence.  It gave her the shivers just thinking about spending her life that way.

“What happened, Potter?” Pomfrey asked and Ginny imagined she had to restrain herself from adding “this time” to the end of her question.

But Harry didn’t really have the gory details of what happened to him, seeing as that he was unconscious and all, so Colin stepped forward and filled in the pieces.  The Healer’s eyebrows rose at the detailed and gruesome description.  Colin _adored_ drama. 

“My,” Madame Pomfrey’s gasped, at a complete loss by the time Colin was finished.  “Well, these are nicely done Healing Charms.  Did Professor Potter do these?”

Harry looked up and met Ginny’s eyes again.  His gaze was so warm that she couldn’t help her heart from tripping over, despite the caring boyfriend rubbing circles on her back.  Somehow, she felt more connected to Harry from across the room than she did to the boy now touching her.

“It was Ginny, mostly,” Harry finally explained.

Madame Pomfrey’s eyes whipped around.  “ _Well_.  Nicely done, Miss Weasley.  I must say, I _am_ impressed.”

Dean squeezed her shoulder and Hermione grinned at her proudly, but Ginny said nothing.  She just hoped she would never have to do another Healing Charm for the rest of her life.  But as she watched Madam Pomfrey wave her wand, making the angry red welt on Harry’s neck fade away, Ginny had this awful feeling that she wouldn’t be that lucky.

Ginny wiped her suddenly damp hands on her jeans, holding Harry’s gaze until he finally smiled and looked down.  Yes, it was a terrifying thing being a part of Harry Potter’s life, girlfriend or not. 

But as she wasn’t about to give him up, Ginny had some work to do.  If friendship was all that was on the table, then that’s what she’d take.  But they needed to have a conversation first, one _without_ mind altering substances that led to dangerous situations.  And they needed to have it soon.

* * * * *

Ron was certain that Adrianna was purposefully keeping him and Hermione apart.  They hadn’t had an opportunity to speak to one another since the attack at King’s Cross.  Actually, they hadn’t spoken since the night before, but Ron could hardly blame Adrianna for _that_.

And as much as he had this burning, screaming need inside him to talk her, to touch her, to stand next to her, to … _anything_ that involved somehow being withHermione, Ron could see the wisdom in Adrianna’s decision.  Because along with that burning, screaming need to be with her was an equally powerful, _infinitely_ more unpredictable need to _rip_ Seamus Finnegan’s face off.

Ron wasn’t quite sure what would happen if he got within arm’s length of the slimy little Irishman.  The thing that Ron was most afraid of was that he’d lose control and someone would get caught in the crossfire, including— _especially_ —Hermione.  But how _could_ he control himself when, as the day progressed, all of his confusing, undeniably intense feelings for Hermione were converging into rage?

When Ron first saw her holding hands with _Finnegan_ , saw that tosser helping her in a way that only Ron and Harry were allowed to do, Ron was hurt.  Mostly, though, he was resigned.  He’d known this was going to happen, hadn’t he?  Ron had prepared himself for it all summer.  The thing about something like Practice was that it ended.  He accepted that. 

Yeah.  Like hell he accepted it.  How long had his healthy attitude, his _resignation_ , lasted?  Minutes?  A full hour?  All Ron knew for certain was that when he saw Hermione next, in the doorway to Harry’s compartment, and Seamus had appeared behind her, god, the rage, the disgust, the envy … Ron couldn’t describe it.  He couldn’t even look at her.

So, really, it wasn’t all that surprising that Adrianna sent them to opposite ends of the train.  Even with all that was going on, there was no way that the Empath didn’t feel _that_.  And Ron blowing up at Hermione was the last thing they needed.  It was pathetic.  They were under attack and all Ron could think about was his ruddy jealousy.

But even though separating Ron and Hermione made sense, the solitude that patrolling the train offered was not helpful.  His imagination ran wild and all he could do was picture Seamus and Hermione putting her considerable Practice to use.  She was an expert now.  Any bloke at school would be right impressed by her new _skills_. 

Was Seamus going to be the lucky bloke to first taste the benefits of her research?  Was Hermione just waiting for an opportunity to snog him?  Had she all ready?  Would she let him touch her?  Would she touch him?  Go even further?  Would she shag him?  Was she disappointed that she didn’t get to thoroughly _Practice_ that as well, gain the proper expertise?

Stop!  Shite.  This was absurd.  Hermione wasn’t like that.  Ron’s imagination was sending him around the twist.  She wasn’t a tart.  Just because she wanted someone better than Ron didn’t make her a slag. 

But Finnegan wasn’t better than Ron, goddamn it!

At least he didn’t have to deal with the Irish prick again when they arrived at Hogsmeade.  Ron stepped off the train and found, instead of Seamus, Hermione was fussing over Harry, with a compassion she used to touch R—

Fuck, now Ron was even jealous of his best friend.  The image of whose unconscious body was burned forever onto the surface of Ron’s brain.  He wanted nothing better than to go to Harry, stand next to him, guard him.  But Harry didn’t need the stress of watching his two best friends row and, at the moment, Ron didn’t think he could stop himself from baiting her.

So, Adrianna rescued him again.  With a job.  A job Ron was _so_ not qualified for.  He was to keep watch on the way to Hogwarts, protect the road.  On a _fucking_ Thestral.  He couldn’t even see the blasted thing.  It was no wonder that he’d made a complete and utter arse of himself.  Why did people keep giving him more responsibility than he could handle?  Were they expecting a miracle? 

But maybe Adrianna just knew that he needed the fresh air and the openness to clear his head.  After Ron got a handle on the bloody Thestral he was grateful to be useful.  It felt good to be a part of the fight and it helped him focus his thoughts away from Hermione.

Ron almost felt as though he were playing junior Auror or something.  Even if the only reason he was given the job was because Adrianna felt sorry for him and because Harry was injured.  But it also brought back Ron’s longing to be an Auror and _that_ was never going to happen.  Not with his pathetic ‘E’ in Potions.

This year, Ron approached his prefect duties and escorting the younger students to the castle with a bit more seriousness, both out of respect for the situation and for Adrianna and Remus.  It also allowed him to keep his focus elsewhere for a little while longer, because once the first-years were seated and he turned to see Hermione and Harry …

Oh god.  Did Ron really think this would work?  Had he really thought that they could all go back to the way things were before?  He couldn’t _pretend_ the only feelings he had for Hermione were friendly.  It was impossible.  A few short months ago, they were a perfect threesome and now that was gone forever.

Ron stared at his best friends.  He couldn’t sit next to Harry because he couldn’t bear being near Hermione when everything was so _different_ now.  Ron had destroyed his relationship with both his best friends, all for one fleeting summer of pleasure.  Who would he hang around now?  He couldn’t stand being _near_ Seamus and Dean.  Ron would be all alone.  And he deserved it too.  He was a bastard and now he’d gone and ruined his life.

“Ron.  Ron.  _Mate_.”

It took him a full minute to realize someone was calling him.  Ron looked up to see Harry gesturing him over to his table.  Hermione cast him a shy glance, biting her lip and looking surprisingly adorable despite the grime.  Maybe she wasn’t avoiding him.  Maybe she—

Hermione looked down, purposely turning her entire body towards the table and away from Ron.  And maybe she was.  Ron forced a smile onto his face and took the seat on the other side of Harry.  He wasn’t going to punish Harry for his own idiocy.  None of this was _his_ fault. 

Ron avoided looking at Hermione.  He tried to pretend she wasn’t there.  It didn’t work very well.  When the food appeared he found that he wasn’t hungry, despite not having eaten since the day before.  But for Ron Weasley to _not_ eat at a feast would have been seen as something akin to the sun deciding not to rise, so rather than attract attention, Ron choked down as much as he could. 

He even managed to make some small talk, though he had no idea what he said.  Not once did Hermione try to say something to him.  Hell, she didn’t even look at him.  By the time the treacle tart appeared Ron couldn’t stand it anymore.  He had to get out of there.

He knew that people whispered.  He knew his excuses were pitiful, knew that _any_ excuse would have been pitiful.  Harry had almost died and Ron had prefect duties.  But he just couldn’t stay.

Ron claimed that he was going to check on Gryffindor Tower, make sure it was safe before the whole house converged on it.  Or some such nonsense he made up on the spot.  Then he got the password from the most senior Gryffindor prefect and headed straight for the loo, where he promptly stuck his entire head under the tap, hoping the cold water would shock some sense into him.

He had to get a grip.  He had to figure out what he was going to do.  All his plans for dealing with Hermione once they got back to Hogwarts involved pretending nothing had happened and being friends and … that idea was complete, absolute _rubbish_.  There was no way Ron was going to be able to do _any_ of that.  What was wrong with him that he thought he could?

He shook the water from his hair and ran his hands over his damp face.  He needed a new plan.  Shite.  He wasn’t smart enough for this.  Hermione was the one who came up with the plans, the one who riddled out the complicated messes.  Taking a deep breath, he turned and made his way towards the tower. 

Then again, Hermione was the one who came up with this Practicing bollocks and look where that got them.  And it wasn’t as if Ron could just walk up to her and ask her for her help figuring out how to deal with his feelings for her without destroying their friendship.

But maybe he could.  Why _wouldn’t_ she help him?  It meant that Ron would have to humiliate himself, put his pride away, and confess the whole sordid mess.  His feelings for Hermione.  His desire to murder Seamus.  Everything.  It would be humiliating and all he could gain was her pity, but he didn’t know what to do and his only hope was that she would.

In the common room, Ron settled himself in front of the fire to wait for her.  Sitting on the floor, with his back against a sofa, the average student walking through the portrait hole couldn’t see him.  The last thing he needed was unwelcome questions as to why he was sitting alone on the first day back to school.  And the chances of Hermione being the first one through were slim to none.  She took her prefect duties very seriously. 

Leaning his head back against the chair, Ron closed his eyes and tried to decide what he was going to say, confident that he would have plenty of time to rehearse.  What he _didn’t_ expect was for the first voice he heard to be Seamus Finnegan’s. 

 “I, er, I wanted to check up on you.  You looked tired.”

 

Oh fuck.  Fuck.  Fuck.  _Fuck_.  Please, don’t let him be talking to Hermione.  Please, please, don’t let it be Hermione.

“Oh.  I’m fine.”

Definitely Hermione.  Fuck!  Ron’s mind went blank.  He forgot why he was there.  His heart was beating so loud it drowned out most of Hermione’s words.  All he could think was, no, please, this wasn’t happening.  It definitely _felt_ like a nightmare when Seamus said in an appalling fake-shy way, “And I wanted to tell you, that thing in the train, it was brilliant.”

Of course, it was brilliant.  If Seamus knew anything about Hermione, he’d know that _everything_ she did was brilliant.  Bloody wanker.  Prick.  Slimy Irish arseh—

“Um.  Thank you.”  Ron’s heart stopped at her soft words, his stomach sank.  He could just see her standing there, looking at Seamus shyly, smiling.  Was she enjoying this?

“And I, er, meant what I said.  You know, about you looking great.”

“Oh.” 

 _Obviously,_ she was enjoying this.  Bitch.  He couldn’t believe it.  God, she had used him.  Hermione didn’t care about Ron at all.  It really _had_ been all about Practicing techniques to use with other blokes.  Ron was so goddamn stupid.

“So, I,” the bloody Irish arsehole stammered, “I’d like to make up for calling you, _you know_ , last year.  If that’s all right.” 

Hermione must be loving this.  Back in school two minutes and already she was being asked out.  Ron needed to get out of there.  He couldn’t even remember why he was sitting there in the first place.  He was going to be sick. 

As they came to the foot of the stairs to the girls’ dormitory, Ron could see them clearly.  He clenched his fists to keep himself from springing on Finnegan like some sort of bloody maniac.  Hermione turned, undoubtedly to accept the tosser’s pathetic excuse for a proposal, and must have caught sight of Ron, because she yelped, her hand flying to her chest. 

She’d never looked so guilt-ridden in her life.  Hermione must be realizing that she had been caught.  She must know that Ron now understood just how used he had been.

Bloody fucking hell, where had _his_ Hermione gone?

* * * * *


	47. And It All Came Tumbling Down

Hermione couldn’t believe they hadn’t told her about Harry.  She’d stood in the compartment, surrounded by people she _thought_ were her friends, all of whom knew what happened, and no one thought to tell her that mere minutes ago, her best friend had been unconscious and bleeding to death on the floor. 

 

No, instead, Hermione had to learn about it by overhearing a group of fourth-years gossiping on their way off the train.  It was ridiculous and unfair and … _cruel_.  Didn’t they think she deserved to know?  Did her position as best friend mean nothing?  Had her roll as Harry’s chief comforter been so completely usurped by Ginny and Adrianna that Hermione wasn’t needed at all? 

 

For years, _years,_ it was Hermione who tended to Harry in times like this.  Had she become so unimportant?  Had she ruined everything by being unavailable all summer?  And to think, while Harry had been recovering from a serious neck wound, she was pacing the empty aisles of the train, playing prefect. 

 

Oh, who was she trying to fool?  Prefect duties would have been noble compared to what she was really doing.  Hermione spent maybe a tenth of the time patrolling the aisles, the majority was spent crying in the loo, feeling sorry for herself. 

 

Hermione was just as unavailable and wrapped up in herself as she had been all summer long.  She should have noticed something was wrong as soon as she’d set eyes on Harry in the compartment.  But, no, she’d been too distracted by Ron, too _miserable_ to notice anything. 

 

Of all the horrible back to school scenarios Hermione had prepared herself for, nothing could compare with the reality.  And she wished she were _just_ talking about the attacks.  Hermione could never have imagined that Ron would ignore her.  Only hours ago, she was naked in his arms.  He was loving and attentive and wonderful and now it was as if she didn’t exist at all.  Just like that.

 

Had Ron decided that he didn’t want her in his life at all after her appalling behavior last night?  Maybe he finally decided that Hermione was a slag and was too mortified to be seen with her.  Maybe he just didn’t want a “scarlet woman” as a best friend.

 

Or _maybe_ , Ron was afraid that Hermione would act as if they were dating, that she would cling to him and embarrass him in front of his friends.  Who would want people to think they were intimate with _her_?  It might ruin his chances with other girls. 

 

Hermione just thanked god that she hadn’t told Ron that she was in love with him last night.  At least she had some pride left.  And her pride was going to be quite important now. She didn’t have much else.  Harry didn’t need her and Ron didn’t want her around.  Her life was never going to be the same.  They’d outgrown her.  Her boys would be moving on to real girlfriends now.  Why would they need Hermione? 

 

With everything that was going on in her head, was it any wonder that when Hermione finally got her hands on Harry she hovered over him, coddling him to the point where she _knew_ she was being unbearably annoying?  But between guilt over not being there when Harry needed her and fear that she would lose him as well, she just couldn’t stop herself. 

 

Hermione made absolutely certain that Adrianna and Ginny knew that she had matters firmly under control.  Her control.  Harry was _hers_ to care for first.  This summer couldn’t erase that.  She may have been distracted, but things were going back to the way they were before.  And no one, _no one_ could compete with the history Hermione had with Harry.

 

It was _Hermione_ who stood beside Harry each and every time the school turned against him.  Who was there when everyone thought he opened the Chamber of Secrets?  When they thought he had put his name into the Goblet of Fire?  When Skeeter was running her libel campaign?  When the whole Wizarding world thought Harry was lying? 

 

Hermione was the only one who had been there _every_ time.  Not Ginny, not Adrianna, not even Ron.  _Hermione_.   She was _there_ , damn it, and they couldn’t take him away from her.  She couldn’t lose Harry as well.  She didn’t deserve it. No matter what she’d done, or not done, this summer.

 

But while she had the right and responsibility to stand next to Harry, Ron was a different matter entirely.  Harry might have been irritated by her coddling, but he accepted her easily, even apologizing for not telling her what happened earlier, but Ron … the entire trip to the castle, he never acknowledged her presence.  He just did his job, handsome and hero-like as he guarded the group. 

 

Ron would have a girlfriend before either of them knew what happened.  Every girl in school would want to be with him now.  Hermione’s delusion that he might choose her was completely shattered.  Why would he, when he wasn’t even able to look at her? Not until Harry called him to sit with them.  But then, _she_ couldn’t look at _him_ , not without humiliating herself and bursting out into sobs. 

 

It was no surprise that the feast was completely dreadful.  Hermione barely recognized what was happening around her.  She didn’t hear anything anyone said.  Not until she heard Ron excuse himself, so disgusted with her presence that he couldn’t even sit two people down and finish his pudding.

 

Hermione only vaguely noticed that someone was calling her name.  “Hmm,” she answered absently, looking up to see Colin lean over the table.

 

“You know, I can cover for you,” the younger boy offered quietly.  “With the prefect stuff.  The firsties are too traumatized to be much trouble.  You look wretched—I mean, you must be exhausted after that wicked spell.  Why don’t you take Harry back to the tower?”

 

Hermione gaped at him.  Was she _that_ transparent?  Did everyone see that she was seconds away from a breakdown?  “No, I’m fine,” she protested quickly, shaking her head.  “I can—”

 

But Harry cut her off, placing his hand gently on her back.  “I _am_ rather tired.”  He gave her a small smile and gestured his head toward the door.

 

She knew what Harry was doing.  This wasn’t for him.  This was for her.  He was rescuing her by letting her rescue him.  It was a complete reversal of their relationship and Hermione hated it.  But then again, Harry wasn’t usually that insightful.  Maybe he _was_ tired. 

 

He looked at her imploringly and Hermione finally gave in, nodding.  “Thanks, Colin.  We really appreciate it,” Harry said softly as they stood up from the table. 

 

Harry kept his hand on her back, ushering her from the room.  Hermione gave Colin a small smile as they left, but couldn’t seem to make her voice work.  It was a good thing he offered.  It wouldn’t do the first-years any good to see their prefect burst into tears halfway through explaining the rules to Gryffindor Tower.  They were terrified enough.

 

As soon as they were out of earshot of the Great Hall, Harry leaned close and asked softly, “All right there, Hermione?”

 

“Mmmhmm,” she lied, nodding.  Then she quickly added, “Are _you_ all right?”  But Hermione didn’t let him answer, just kept filling the air with increasingly hysterical questions.  “Does your neck still hurt?  Madame Pomfrey is an excellent Healer, of course, but everyone makes mistakes.  Is there any lingering pain?  Are you feeling dizzy?  Do your lungs hurt?  You should be—”

 

“ _Hermione_ , it’s ok,” Harry interrupted, looking more concerned for her than anything else.  “I’m ok.  All fixed up.  Honest.  But … what happened with you and Ron last night?  He said you didn’t row.  What’s going on?”

 

They talked about it?  Oh god.  Ron didn’t tell Harry the part about her begging him to shag her, did he?  Hermione would just die.  She’d never be able to look Harry in the eye again. 

 

Somehow, Hermione managed to catch herself before she hyperventilated.  She was being ridiculous.  Harry wouldn’t be asking if he already knew.  “Nothing happened,” she denied, her words so garbled that she was surprised he understood her at all, but her throat was closing up again and she couldn’t even look at him.  

 

Harry grunted, letting her know that he didn’t believe her for a second.  He had to hurry to keep up with her brisk pace, despite his longer legs, his arm brushing hers with each step.  Hermione didn’t know where she was hurrying to.  Maybe she was running away from something.

 

“Come on, Hermione.  I know something is going on.  This is me, remember,” Harry insisted, less than a minute later.  “I _know_ you.  And Ron.  The whole summer you never went two minutes without touching and now you won’t even look at one another.”

 

She would not cry.  Not here.  Not now.  She would _not_ cry.  Hermione attempted to say something, but only managed to whimper.

 

Harry sighed, awkwardly placing his arm around her shoulder.  “Hermione, I don’t know what happened, but it _must_ have been a misunderstanding.  Ron … he … he …”

 

Hermione jerked her eyes up, staring at her best friend as her heart rate doubled.  Harry knew something.  Had Ron told him how he really felt about her?  Had he told Harry that he fancied her?  That, oh please, god, that he loved her? 

 

“He cares about you.  A lot.”

 

Hermione couldn’t take it anymore.  She burst into tears.  A horrific noise rose from her throat, sounding something akin to some strange bird being killed.  She would be humiliated if she had the energy, but as it was, she could barely breathe and doubled over with the force of her sobs.  Oh god.  Oh god.  Oh god.

 

“Bloody hell,” Harry breathed, clearly panicked.  His arms came more fully around her and he guided her into an alcove, away from preying eyes.  How many people in this school who would just _love_ to see Hermione Granger lose control?

 

“It’s ok.  It’s ok.  Don’t cry,” Harry pleaded, turning her to look at him. His hands grasped her elbows, holding her up.  “I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean … _please_ , don’t cry.”

 

Hermione couldn’t look at him.  She couldn’t talk, could only shake her head, even though she knew that this wasn’t fair to Harry, knew none of it was his fault.  He hadn’t done anything wrong and now she was making him feel bad.  Her guilt piled on and her weeping only became more forceful.

 

“Oh god,” Harry cried, sounding really panicked now.  “Hermione, I swear, whatever happened with Ron, it’s not that … he more than cares for you, Hermione.  I … he _adores_ you.”

 

Hermione shook her head more vehemently.  “He doesn’t want me,” she insisted, barely getting the words out.

 

“He _does._ I know he does.”

 

“He didn’t say that,” Hermione all but yelled, completely assured of her words.  Harry was just trying to make her feel better.  He was desperate.  What sixteen year-old boy wouldn’t be when he was stuck with a girl acting like a lunatic in the hallway?  She took gasping breaths to try to calm herself.  She needed to get control.

 

Harry look increasingly panicked with every minute that passed.  “He … I, er, I’m his best mate, Hermione.  I _know_ Ron.  He wants you.  He’s just … Ron’s just really insecure,” Harry burst out, sounding incredibly sincere as he helped her stand up straight.

 

Somehow, Hermione managed to quiet her sobbing down to a more reasonable weeping and Harry must have felt encouraged by this, because he leaned closer, continuing in a passionate whisper, “Your plan to get him to tell you first isn’t going to work.  Ron’s too … he’s just not going to ask.  Not because he doesn’t want you—”

 

Yeah, _right_.  Hermione jerked away.  She couldn’t listen to this anymore.  “I understand,” she lied, swiping at her cheeks and walking quickly toward the tower.  She couldn’t stand this one more minute.  All she wanted now was her bed.

 

“No, wait,” Harry called, frustration in his voice as he rushed to catch up.  “Listen to me.  Ron’s very … Hermione, remember how you once told me that he’s always felt over-shadowed by everyone around him.”

 

Hermione threw Harry an irritated look, not slowing her pace.  What did that have to do with anything?  “I appreciate what you’re trying to do, Harry, but—”

 

“No!  I said _listen_.  See, the thing is, Ron doesn’t think someone like you would ever really be with him, so he’ll never ask,” Harry blurted out.  He seemed almost proud of himself once he was done.

 

But Hermione scoffed.  Now, she _knew_ Ron would never say _that_.  “Someone like me?  I’m not so special,” she muttered heatedly, crossing her arms tightly and quickening her pace.

 

“To Ron you are.”

 

She stumbled.  When a whimper escaped and the tears began again, she felt Harry’s arm come around her shoulders once more.  Her pace slowed considerably and, this time, Hermione leaned into her best friend, laying her head on his shoulder.  When had he become so sweet?  Her boys were growing up.  They were even taking care of _her_.  They really didn’t need her anymore.

 

“I think you’re special as well,” Harry whispered and Hermione gave a teary laugh.  “Not as special as Ron does—”

 

“ _Harry_!”  There was a playful innuendo in his voice that told her he was teasing and Hermione was grateful for it.  Even if Harry didn’t need her, at least he wasn’t abandoning her.

 

“I’m serious.”  Harry’s voice was more sober, now, as he hugged her to him.  “Honestly, Hermione, just talk to Ron.  Tell him how you feel and everything will be all right.  I know it.”

 

Hermione shook her head.  Harry really didn’t understand the situation.  “Harry, Ron doesn’t want me—”

 

“Herm—”

 

“He’s avoiding me so I won’t pressure him into something he doesn’t want—”

 

“Hermione!  Ron’s _avoiding_ you because he’d so hacked off about Seamus, he can barely see straight.”

 

That made Hermione pause.  She studied Harry, digesting what he said.  “Really?”  _Could_ it just be jealousy?  Ron _was_ insecure and incredibly possessive.

 

“ _Really_ ,” Harry repeated, adamant.  “Talk to him.  For me.”

 

Hermione groaned, conflicted.  She wanted to talk to Ron.  God, at this point, she just wanted to be near him without him running away.  But it went against every instinct she had to tell him how she felt, especially now.  There was a knot in her stomach screaming, “No.  No.  No.” 

 

“I dunno, Harry.  I—”

 

“Harry,” a voice behind them called. 

 

  1.   Hermione couldn’t decide if she were glad that she had been saved from a humiliating conversation that wouldn’t end, or angry that Ginny had intruded on _her_ time with Harry.  She’d most likely come to steal him away, leaving Hermione alone.



 

They both paused and Hermione took one last swipe at her cheeks before turning to face Ginny.  The younger girl was biting her lip, looking at Harry with a mixture of anxiety and longing, making Hermione feel guilty for her horrible thoughts. 

 

“I sorry if I …” Ginny stumbled, uncharacteristically at a loss for words, staring at Harry. Then she spared a quick glance at Hermione, before frowning and looking back at her more fully.  “Is everything all right?” Ginny asked.

 

Hermione took a deep breath and forced a smile.  “Nothing more than the usual,” she said lightly.  She didn’t want to explain again and Ginny’s advice before the attacks had been far from helpful.  Ginny was nervously looking back at Harry now, so Hermione deflected, “Did you want …?”

 

“Oh.  Yes.  I …” Ginny drew up her shoulders, asking in a firmer voice, as though she had gathered her courage, “Can I talk to you, Harry?” 

 

Harry opened his mouth and looked to Hermione.  He wanted to go with Ginny, that much was clear, but he also felt guilty about abandoning Hermione.  Ginny looked both afraid and eager.  They had their own issues to work through. 

 

“I, er … Hermione—” Harry stammered.

 

Hermione needed to stop being selfish.  “I’m fine.  You talk with Ginny,” she insisted, pulling away and hoping she was believable in the role she was playing.

 

“But, Hermione—”   

 

“Maybe I’ll take your advice,” she interrupted quickly, saying the only thing she thought would really convince him to let her go.  Hermione didn’t know if she was lying or not, but it worked.  Harry took a relieved breath and smiled, nodding.

 

Then, before she could burst out crying _again_ , Hermione hurried away from her friends.  Yes, she still had Harry, but she had to share him more than she ever had before.  It would never be the same.  She thought over all the things Harry’d said.  Maybe she should do as he asked, find Ron. Not to confess, exactly, but to at least talk to him.

 

Hermione had just told the Fat Lady the password when a light Irish brogue interrupted her thoughts.  “Oi.”  

 

It was said disturbingly close to her ear, making Hermione jump and spin, reaching for her wand.  “Seamus,” she gasped.  Oh dear.  Why did it have to be _Seamus_? 

 

 

 

 

* * * * *

 

 

 

If Harry didn’t know that Ron was hurting pretty badly himself, he would have to punch him.  Again.  Harry had never felt quite so incompetent as he did when Hermione collapsed in front of him, doubled over, sobbing, halfway to Gryffindor Tower.  It made Harry want to lash out, punish someone for doing this to her. 

 

Hermione must be in some rather horrific pain to let herself break down like that.  She was normally so strong.  It was scary to watch, actually.  Especially since Harry had no idea how to make it better.  Hermione usually took care of _him_.  He’d never really had to return the favor and was certain he was bollocksing it up good now.  But he had no choice, he had to do _something_.

 

That’s how Harry justified coming so close to breaking his promise to Ron.  They both owed Hermione for everything she’d done for them.  And besides, it wasn’t really _betraying_ Ron.  Not when Harry didn’t say _exactly_ what Ron told him not to say.  As long as he didn’t do that, he didn’t cross the line, right? 

 

Oh hell.  Who was he kidding?  Harry had walked right up to that line and hurled himself over it, blurting out everything and anything he could think of to convince Hermione to tell Ron how she felt.  She was the only one who could fix this, damn it!  It was what she did best.  _Fix_ things for Harry and Ron.  They were just stupid blokes.  They couldn’t do anything without her.

 

Ron would forgive him.  Harry was sure of it.  If he could get Ron and Hermione to work things out, Ron would be so happy he wouldn’t care what Harry had done to make it happen.  And if Harry was really lucky, Ron would never even find out.

 

“Talk to him.  For me,” Harry begged Hermione, his arm finally feeling comfortable around her shoulders.  Touching her wasn’t as scary as he’d always thought it would be and she looked a bit calmer, so maybe he got something right.  Now, if she’d just see reason.  For all their sakes.

 

Hermione looked up at Harry, her face streaked with tears as she swallowed and brushed the wetness off of her cheeks.  Shite, maybe love made girls just as miserable and insane as it did to blokes.

 

Why couldn’t Ron just tell her how he felt?  It wasn’t as though Hermione were dating someone else.  If Ginny were free, Harry would tell her. Well, if she fancied him back he’d tell her.  And if it weren’t so dangerous for her. And if Harry hadn’t vowed he wouldn’t fall in love with her and … would Ginny fancy him if it weren’t for Dean?  She _had_ kissed him back, maybe—

 

“I dunno, Harry,” Hermione whispered, pulling him out of his silly, self-centered thoughts and back to his amazingly stubborn best friend.  Was Harry going to have to drag her up to the boy’s dormitory and _make_ her talk to Ron?  “I—”

 

“Harry.”

 

He froze.  The sound of Ginny’s voice alone made Harry’s heart lodge itself uncomfortably in his throat.  All of a sudden, dealing with a crying Hermione didn’t seem quite so daunting a task.  His best friend discretely wiped the last of her tears away and Harry followed her lead, turning around to face Ginny.

 

She looked just as disheveled and dirty as she had on the train.  Just as beautiful. Rocking on her feet, Ginny bit her lip, seeming uncharacteristically nervous.  “I sorry if I … ”  She did a double take when looking at Hermione, obviously caught off guard by how distraught she looked, despite Hermione’s valiant efforts to hide it. “Is everything all right?”

 

Hermione’s spine went ramrod stiff and her shoulders tensed under Harry’s arm.  When she spoke, no one would have thought she was anything other than simply worn out by the day’s events.  “Nothing more than the usual.”

 

Shite. What was Hermione trying to prove?  Ginny could be helpful here.  She was certainly a damn sight better than Harry when it came to this relationship bollocks.  Not that Harry wanted to hear about Ginny’s experience.

 

Incredibly, Hermione managed to smile at Ginny and ask, “Did you want …?”

 

Ginny, again, looked flustered.  What was wrong with her?  “Oh.  Yes.  I …” she sputtered before straightening her shoulders and asking, “can I talk to you, Harry?” 

 

Harry’s first response was to be terrified.  Then he was exhilarated, but also still terrified.  What did Ginny want to talk about?  Did he want to know?  Stupid question.  Of course, he wanted to.  He _always_ wanted to talk to her.

 

But then Harry looked over at Hermione. He couldn’t leave her.  Her state of mind was unstable to say the least.  Though dealing with both girls was leaving Harry a bit dizzy.  No, as much as he wanted to talk to Ginny, Hermione was just too upset.  She was the priority.  But then there were Ginny’s beseeching eyes and … shite, he didn’t know what to do.  

 

“I ... uh … Hermione …” Harry stammered, pathetically.  Even now he needed her to tell him what he to do.

 

Giving him a smile that Harry was afraid didn’t quite reach her eyes, Hermione gently pushed his arm off of her shoulders and stepped away.  “I’m fine.  You talk with Ginny.”

 

Goddamn it.  Now Hermione thought Harry didn’t want to be with her.  He couldn’t let her leave like this.  “But Hermione—” he protested.

 

She interrupted him with a soft smile and a shake of her head.  “Maybe I’ll take your advice.”

 

Really?  Oh thank _god_.  Great.  Wonderful.  So relieved that he thought he might pass out, Harry nodded and grinned stupidly.  He watched Hermione disappear down the hall to Gryffindor Tower to hopefully go and finally tell Ron the truth.  _Please_ , let this be over.

 

Then Harry turned back to Ginny.  Shite, was there still time to go with Hermione?  _Now_ what was he supposed to say?  It was a lot harder talking to Ginny when he didn’t have the help of wine or strange mind-altering pink gas. 

 

Her eyes were wide and nervous and the silence stretched uncomfortably.  In the end, Harry just couldn’t stand it anymore and opened his mouth to speak, but the only thing that came out was, “Hi.”

 

“Hi,” Ginny returned, sounding slightly breathless.  Well, at least Harry wasn’t the only one at a loss for words.

 

He tore his eyes from hers. The intensity of her gaze was a bit too much for him.  Looking down, Harry babbled, “So, er … where’s Dean?”

 

A flash on guilt skittered across her face.  Why would Ginny feel guilty?  Unless … had she ditched Dean to come find Harry?  Maybe she _did_ fancy him.  Perhaps, she’d even want to date him if she wasn’t with Dean.

 

“I have, you know, prefect duties,” Ginny explained, unable, it seemed, to meet his eyes. 

 

Harry’s brow furrowed and he glanced around the hallway curiously.  There were no first-years about.  What prefect duties was she talking about?  Had Ginny _lied_ to Dean to be with Harry?  That was even more serious than ditching him.  Harry smiled.  Well, either way, it certainly wasn’t something he was going to discourage.

 

“Am _I_ part of your prefect duties?” Harry teased, feeling unduly warm and wondering where he’d found the courage to say _that_.  Ginny’s eyes widened and for a minute he thought he’d pushed too far, crossed a line.  But then she blushed and looked to be fighting a guilt-ridden smile.  She _had_ ditched Dean to be with Harry!

 

Finally losing the war against her smile, Ginny burst out into nervous giggles.  Harry couldn’t help but laugh with her.  He wasn’t used to seeing her so nervous and unsure.  Not for years anyway.  The last time she was like this she had a crush on him.  Was _Harry_ making her act this way?  Did she fancy him again?

 

“Well,” Ginny said, once she’d gained control of her giggles, “Colin’s handling things quite nicely by himself.  He’s covering for me.”

 

Harry grinned widely, knowing he should be a bit more cautious about his reactions to her, but she was so adorable.  He liked this side of her, mischievous and shy at the same time.  “What is Dean going to say if he finds out?” he asked, realizing only after that he was flirting with her.  Bloody hell, he was _flirting_ with Ginny.  Almost on purpose.

 

“What can he say?” Ginny said defiantly, almost irritably, the last of her laughter fading quickly.  “I’m just checking on a sick friend.”

 

  1.   Checking on a sick friend.  Ginny held his eyes and Harry felt himself grow more and more restless.  This felt awfully different from when a friend came to visit him in the hospital wing.  He didn’t know what to say.  What came out was a whisper, “He might say you’re _his_ girlfriend.  He might be jealous.”



 

Immediately, Harry regretted his words.  What the hell was he thinking?  Suggesting Dean would be jealous?  That implied that there was something to be jealous of, even that Harry fancied himself a competitor for Ginny’s affections.  Shite.  That was the last thing he needed to reveal.

 

“He doesn’t seem to be the jealous type,” Ginny answered, her tone equally soft.

 

“Oh.”  What did that mean?  Harry wasn’t sure he liked the way this conversation was headed.  It had seemed so promising at the beginning, yet, now, he was feeling extremely vulnerable.  “If you came to see if I’m all right, I’m fine—”

 

“I didn’t.  I mean, I came because I wanted to talk to you.  I’m _allowed_ to talk to you.” Ginny said it defensively, leaving Harry even more confused.

 

“Ok,” he said cautiously.  Then waited for her to begin.  If Ginny wanted to talk, why hadn’t she said anything yet?  Oh god, what was she going to say?

 

“So, um ...” Ginny mumbled, looking down and tucking a messy strand of red hair behind her ear.  “About last night—”

 

  1.   Fuck.  Fuck.  Nothing good ever started with that phrase.  In a panicked rush, words began spilling from Harry’s mouth, “Ginny, look, I … I’m sorry if I—”



 

“About what happened _before_ ,” Ginny pressed on, overpowering him, “about what we talked about before _that_.”

 

Right _that_.  The kiss, _that_.  They were taking about what happened _before_ the kiss.  The only problem was that Harry couldn’t really remember anything _but_ the kiss.  “Right,” he stammered.  “Er, what did we talk about?”

 

The look Ginny shot him was more than mildly annoyed, but, come on, what did she expect?  Harry was sixteen.  He was drunk and had finally kissed the girl he fancied.  That sort of thing kind of wiped out everything else.  Did she really expect him to remember every little thing? 

 

“The part about wanting to stay friends whatever Dean thought,” Ginny reminded him, her annoyance rapidly turning to agitation.  “Whatever, I’ll just—”

 

Ginny started to turn and walk away, but Harry quickly grabbed her arm, saying frantically, “No.  I mean, I remember that part.  I do.  Did you change your …?  I mean—”

 

“I didn’t change my mind.  I meant it,” Ginny assured quickly and so passionately that Harry’s heart clenched in his chest. “Unless, _you_ don’t want to be friends anymore.  If you didn’t mean what you said today—”

 

“I meant it,” Harry hurried to reassure, suddenly very aware of the fact that he had his hand around her arm.  He dropped it, shifting nervously on his feet.  “I meant _everything_ I said today,” he insisted, praying that there wasn’t anything he said that he didn’t remember.  He was drugged after all. But Ginny relaxed, smiling at him and, at that moment, he really didn’t care _what_ he’d said. 

 

Harry found himself smiling besotted at her, which was rather idiotic since all he had cemented with Ginny was friendship.  She was still dating Dean and it was becoming increasingly clear that this was not a situation that Harry was all that comfortable or content with.  But it was hard to do anything but smile when she was grinning up at him like this.

 

“Everything?” Ginny teased.  “Even the lies.”

 

Harry’s eyes widened, a wave of dread washing over him.  Lies?  He hadn’t … oh right.  Catching onto the game, he sighed with relief.  “Are you suggesting that I was _lying_ when I promised to live forever?”

 

She giggled again and all was right with Harry’s world.  Well, for this particular moment anyway.  “I should hope not,” Ginny quipped with mock horror, weaving her arm through his and leading him off to Gryffindor tower. 

 

Harry followed willingly, amazed at how much better this day was turning out than he had anticipated.  But maybe anything looked good after one was impaled with flying debris. 

 

There was only one thing left to worry about. “Now that we’re friends again, you can help me figure out what to do about Ron and Hermione,” Harry said conversationally.  “They’re going to send me around the bend.”

 

“Mmm,” Ginny hummed in agreement.  “They _are_ a mess.” 

 

  1.   A mess.  Well, his good mood didn’t last long.  Harry could only pray that Hermione did as he asked and talked things out with Ron.  Maybe they had already worked things through and the torture was _finally_ over. 



 

 

 

 

 

* * * * *

 

 

 

 

“Seamus,” Hermione gasped, jumping.  “What are you doing?”

 

“Sorry,” he murmured sheepishly, smiling winningly as he rocked back onto his heals. 

 

“That’s all right,” Hermione mumbled reluctantly as she stepped through the portrait hole.  If Harry was right about how Ron felt, then the last thing she needed was Seamus constantly around her.  “Why aren’t you at the feast?” she asked, when he, unfortunately, followed her inside.  Though, she did try her best not to sound irritable.  It wasn’t Seamus’ fault that her life was a mess.

 

“I, er … I wanted to see how you were.  You looked tired.”

 

  1.   Maybe she was.  Hermione was too miserable to notice.  “Oh.  I’m fine.”  Then she realizing she was being short and rather rude, so she added, “It was nice of you to check on me, but—”



 

“And I wanted to tell you that thing in the train … it was _brilliant_.”

 

Hermione blushed, carefully inching toward the stairs.  “Um.  Thank you.”  Oh dear, he was flirting again.  Why did he have to do that?  How was she going to get up the boys’ stairs and find Ron with Seamus here? 

 

“And I, uh, meant what I said before.  You know, about you looking great and everything.”

 

“Oh.” 

 

Oh god.  She needed to get out of here.  Though, it was kind of nice that _someone_ thought she was attractive.  Hermione took a few additional steps toward the stairs, the girl’s stairs this time.  She’d just have to go up to her room and come back down later to find Ron.  _If_ she decided that was a good idea, that was.

 

But, of course, Seamus followed.  Oh, why wouldn’t he leave her alone?  “So, I …” he cleared his throat nervously.  “I’d like to make up for calling you … _you_ know, last year.  If that’s all right.”

 

That stopped Hermione in her tracks.  What did he mean?  Was he … was he asking her out?  Oh god, please don’t let him be asking her out.  Why couldn’t it be Ron she was having this conversation with?

 

Taking a careful breath, Hermione turned to look at him.  But then, out of the corner of her eye, she caught a flash of red hair and her eyes were instinctively drawn to it. 

 

Hermione yelped, her hand flying to her mouth as her eyes came to rest on Ron, sitting on the floor, his back against the couch, staring up at them with the same wild look in his eyes that he had when he confronted Dolohov.  Oh no.  Not this.  Not now.

 

Forcing herself to meet his intense blue gaze, Hermione swallowed.  She needed to get rid of Seamus.  _Right_ now.

 

“Um, Seamus, could you give Ron and me a moment alone?”

 

“Um …” Seamus hesitated, looking back and forth between them.  “Are you _sure_ —”

 

“It’s fine,” Ron snapped, standing so quickly, so aggressively that Hermione instinctively jumped back.  “I’m leaving.  Carry on with _whatever_ you were doing.”

 

Oh god.  “Ron,” Hermione cried, grabbing his arm as he passed, making him go stony.  His cold voice was one of the scariest things she had ever heard.  “ _Please_ , stay.  Seamus, can you—?”

 

“Yeah,” Seamus said, finally seeming to get the message that he wasn’t wanted.  Hopefully, it wasn’t too late.  “I’ll be right upstairs if you need me.” 

 

Seamus forced his way around Ron and up the stairs, giving his roommate a wary look as he did so.  Hermione could see the muscles in Ron’s jaw work and she was genuinely afraid that if she let go of Ron’s arm, he would take a swing at Seamus.  Maybe Harry was right, after all. 

 

Ron’s eyes were fixed on a spot behind her head as he said frigidly, “You didn’t have to send him away.  I would have left if you wanted to snog.”

 

“Ron!” Hermione gasped, feeling as if she’d been struck. She wasn’t prepared for _that_.  “I _wouldn’t_ —”

 

His eyes snapped to hers, as cold and as hard as she’d ever seen them.  “Wouldn’t you, Hermione?  Because after this summer I don’t know what you’d do?”

 

Hermione reeled, clutching her chest as tears burned her newly dry eyes.  Oh god, it was her worst fear come true.  She should have known this would happen.  She acted like a slag and now she was being punished for it.  She never should have listened to Ginny and Adrianna.  “Ron, I—”

 

But he wouldn’t let her talk, he stepped forward menacingly and she stumbled back, off the stairs.  “Have you snogged him yet?  Have a fine time in the luggage compartment, did you?  Put that _Practice_ to good use?”

 

Hermione heard the slap ring out before she had a chance to think about what she was doing.  Ron’s face snapped to the side with the force of her attack, a red mark appearing on his already flushed face.  Oh god.  This wasn’t happening.

 

Ron was still for a minute.  Then, before Hermione could say anything more, he grabbed her arms, pushing her against the wall, pinning her there with his body.  He had pinned her before.  This was the first time she didn’t like it.

 

“What’s a bloke to think, Hermione?” Ron bit out, his face close to hers.  “After the way you’ve been acting, the things you said. Or are you just angry that I didn’t get rid of that pesky virginity for you.  Then you could go on to be a true wh …”

 

Hermione gasped. Then she held her breath as tears now flowed freely down her cheeks.  The unsaid word hung between them.  When she finally couldn’t handle it anymore, she screamed, “Go ahead!  Say it!  Say it, _damn_ you!”

 

Ron’s grip loosened and his jaw trembled.

 

“ _Say it_!”

 

“Slag,” he muttered softly.

 

“Whore, you mean,” Hermione yelled, hysterical.  She was.  She was a whore.  She sold her soul to him and now Ron was trampling on it.  She _trusted_ him.

 

“You said it,” Ron whispered, abruptly letting her go and turning away, his shoulders drooping as he scrubbed his hands over his face.

 

“Only because you didn’t have the courage to say it yourself,” Hermione yelled.  But Ron wouldn’t even look at her.  Bastard.  Grief and pain pooled in her stomach, threatening to overwhelm her.  It was all over.  _Everything_.  She’d gambled and lost.

 

There was only one thing left now, the need to hurt Ron as much as he’d hurt her.  “There are other boys interested in me, you know,” Hermione screamed, swiping at her cheeks. 

 

Ron stiffened but didn’t turn back to look at her. 

 

“I don’t need you!”  Hermione bellowed the lie and Ron flinched, but still, it wasn’t enough.  She took a deep breath and screamed the worst thing she could think of, “There are better boys out there.  Boys— _men_ who want me, who aren’t afraid, who are …better than you, Ron Weasley.  _Better_ , you hear?”

 

He finally turned, the pain she had been aiming for shining in his eyes.  And it almost killed her.  That was when she heard a gasp.  More than one, actually.  Hermione tensed, slowly turning to find a crowd had gathered and were watching them row.  Harry and Ginny were right in the front.

 

Oh god.  Without thinking, Hermione turned and ran up the steps. 

 

 

 

 

 

* * * * * *

 

 

 

 

Harry and Ginny weren’t even through the portrait hole before all his hopes of finding a happy and _normal_ Ron and Hermione were dashed. 

 

Neville came barreling at him, looking as panicked as he had on the train, when Death Eaters were everywhere. “Harry, thank god.  Ron and Hermione … I think they’re going to kill each other this time.  I really do.”

 

Oh fuck.  Harry let go of Ginny, sprinting the remaining distance to the still open portrait hole.  He practically leapt through, finding a crowd had gathered to watch the oblivious couple as they screamed at each other from the foot of the girls’ staircase.

 

Harry pushed to the front of the group and stared in shock, as Hermione, bright red, bellowed into Ron’s face, “There are better boys out there.  Boys— _men_ who want me, who aren’t afraid.  Who are … better than you, Ron Weasley. _Better_ , you hear?”

 

Fucking hell.  What was wrong with her?  Hadn’t Harry just told her that was what Ron felt so insecure about?  Harry heard Ginny gasp, but mostly he was too busy panicking to react.  What did he miss?  What happened to make Hermione say that?  Shite.  Shite.  Shite. 

 

Hermione’s head jerked over to the crowd. A look of horror came over her face, just before she let out a sob and ran up the stairs.  Harry was half-way to the steps before he realized he couldn’t follow.  Damn.  He turned to find his other best friend staring blankly, a shell-shocked expression on his face.  Ron turned slowly and walked to the portrait hole, brushing past Harry as if he weren’t even there.

 

 _Fuck_.  Turning to Ginny, Harry whispered, “You take Hermione, I’ll take Ron.”

 

“Like hell,” Ginny spewed furiously.  Only then did Harry notice how flushed her face was.  “After what she said to my brother, Hermione can rot!”  She turned and ran after Ron. 

 

Harry took one last desperate look at the girls’ stairway, imagining Hermione sobbing alone in her room.  Shite.  Fuck.  Shite.  He had no choice.  There was only one friend Harry could physically get to at the moment.  Pushing through the crowd, he ran after Ron.

 

He hadn’t gone far.  In the hall outside the portrait hole, Ron was looking dazed and disoriented.  Ginny, a hard and unyielding expression on her face, grabbed her brother’s arm and pulled him into a rarely used hallway where Ron promptly collapsed against the wall, sliding to the floor, his head in his hands.

 

“What _happened_?” Harry panted, skidding to a halt and falling to his knees next to Ron.  Ginny’s eyes snapped to Harry and she threw him an angry “who cares” look as she sat next to her brother and stroked his arm.  Ron didn’t answer, just shook his head absently.  This was really, _really_ not good.  “Ron?” Harry tried again.

 

Harry was beginning to wonder what he would do if he didn’t respond at all, when Ron finally muttered softly, “I ruined everything.  Our friendship. Everything.”

 

“ _Hermione_ ruined everything with what _she_ said,” Ginny spat and Harry really couldn’t understand why she was being so one-sided in this.  Surely, Ginny realized, as Harry did, that Hermione couldn’t possibly have meant what she said.  But familial loyalty, not to mention pride, came in spades with the Weasleys.  As did the tendency to jump to conclusions.

 

Ron shook his head.  “No, it was me.  I deserved …” He took a shaky breath.  “You didn’t hear what I said to _her_.”  His face a mask of pure shame, Ron let his head fall back and hit the hard stone wall.  He seemed to like the feel because he banged it several times more for good measure. 

 

Maybe Harry should have done something about it, but his stomach was busy tying itself into knots and all he could think was, oh god, what the _hell_ did Ron do?  “What did you say?” Harry demanded, not sure he wanted to know the answer.

 

But Ron shook his head and mumbled, “It’s too horrible to repeat.” 

 

Oh god.  Shite.  Harry _never_ should have let Hermione go back to the common room without him.  Ron started to bang his head again, but Ginny quickly blocked it from making contact with the stone, buffering his head with her hand.  “Stop that!” she reprimanded harshly. “It’s not worth—”

 

“Apologize!”  Harry burst out, interrupting her.  The last thing they needed was Ron being influenced by Ginny’s bitter words.  Harry ignored the angry look she flashed him.  Didn’t Ginny see she was only making matters worse?  “You need to fix this.  We’ll figure out a way up the stairs.  We’ll—”

 

Incredulous, Ginny gasped.  “After what that bitch said?”

 

 _That_ perked Ron up.  His head snapped up and his jaw clenched, his eyes shooting daggers at Ginny.  “Don’t call her that.  Don’t _ever_ call her that!” he hissed ferociously.

 

Ginny reeled back, blinking in shock.  Harry took advantage of her disorientation, advancing.  “Ron, I _know_ Hermione didn’t mean what she said, just like I know you didn’t mean whatever it was you said.” 

 

Harry felt like he was babbling, but he seemed to have Ron’s attention.  His best friend looked at him with wide, appraising eyes and Harry felt as though they were finally getting somewhere.  But then, Ron shook his head again, insisting, “No.  She meant it.”

 

Damn it.  “She _didn’t_ ,” Harry almost yelled.

 

“Why wouldn’t she mean it?  She’s right.  She’s clever, Hermione.  Of course, she _knows_.  I’m not good enough—”

 

“Stop!” Ginny snapped.  “That’s complete bollocks.”

 

 _Finally_ , something Harry could agree with Ginny on, but Ron still wasn’t buying it.  Oh, to hell with it.  Harry had no choice.  He threw the last of his promises to the wind and plunged in, “Ron, Hermione fancies you like mad.  She’s just upset that you haven’t asked her out yet.”

 

Ron blinked impassively, which was _not_ the reaction Harry was anticipating.  Nor was Ron saying, “No, she doesn’t.”

 

What the _hell_?  What was it going to take?  Why wouldn’t _anyone_ believe him?  Harry looked to Ginny to confirm his words, but she averted her eyes.  She knew about Hermione’s crazy plan.  She knew Hermione fancied Ron, but … damn, it seemed nothing was going to get Ginny to defend Hermione after what she’d overheard. 

 

So, Harry tried again, “Ron—”

 

“It’s over.  It’s just over.”  The defeated sound in Ron’s voice was overwhelming.  It left Harry feeling completely helpless.  It couldn’t be _over_.  But Harry had run out of ideas.

 

Ginny settled herself next to Ron, stroking his knee and laying her cheek on his shoulder.  “You’ll find someone better.  Someone who appreciates you.”

 

Ron let out a snort and leaned his head back against the stone, his eyes slipping closed.  Harry sat back, next to him and fought the urge to bang _his_ head against the wall.  Shite, now what?

 

 

 

 

* * * * *

 

 

 

 

 

Hermione had never climbed steps so quickly in her life.  She managed to clear the second landing before the sobs took over.  After that, it was much harder to climb given the fact that she was having trouble breathing.  One thought kept her moving, she _had_ to get to her room and away from the humiliation gathering in the common room.

 

When she stumbled through the door to the sixth-year girls’ dormitory it was an overwhelming relief.  Hermione snatched up a pillow and hugged it to her tightly as she collapsed into a ball onto the familiar softness of her bed.  Burying her face in the blankets, she finally stopped fighting the tears and let the grief wash over her.

 

It was over.  It was really _,_ truly over.  Her dreams were dead.  Ron … he had been so hateful, so mean.  Hermione had never seen him like that.  He called her a slag. God, he thought she was a _whore_. 

 

And, really, wasn’t she?  After what Hermione had done this summer was it any wonder that he’d lost all respect for her.  It was a risk she knew she was taking, something she prepared herself for.  What she wasn’t expecting was Ron’s … _viciousness_.  Or _her_ viciousness.

 

God, Ron was never going to talk to her again.  Whatever he did or said to provoke her, it was Hermione who went and did the unforgivable.  Minutes after Harry had gone on about how insecure Ron was, she’d used that knowledge to her advantage.  For revenge.  Hermione didn’t deserve him now.  She’d ruined everything. 

 

How could she have been so stupid?  All she had done all summer long was make one misguided, idiotic decision after another.  Between her ridiculous Practicing plan, her horrible behavior last night, and the malicious things she had just said to Ron, she deserved everything she got, _every_ horrible thing he said to her. 

 

But that realization did nothing to ease the pain.  Nothing Hermione could have anticipated could have prepared her for how much his words hurt her.  It made her sick.  She just wished she could hate Ron for what he said.  Even just a tiny bit.

 

Hermione was so busy wallowing in her own misery that she didn’t realize someone was calling her name until her pillow was yanked from her face.  Damn it.  Ginny must have followed her.  Why, oh _why_ didn’t Hermione remember the Imperturbable?

 

She didn’t want to hear any placations or any more of Ginny’s stupid plans.  Couldn’t she just leave her alone?  Hermione fought the insistent tugging, but Ginny always was—oh … oh _hell_. 

 

God was playing a cruel, cruel joke on her.  Hermione blinked her blurry eyes open to find not one, but both of her roommates crouched next to her, their faces disturbingly close.  With a groan, Hermione turned her face away, burrowing into her mattress, wishing her hair wasn’t in that blasted plait.  She needed something to hide under.

 

She felt a dip in her bed and an unwelcome hand rubbing her back.  Then Parvati said in a soft, sympathetic, and entirely annoying tone, “Poor dear.  Blokes can be right bastards, can’t they?  It’s all right, Hermione.  You can talk to us.  Lavender and I have had _loads_ of boy troubles.”

 

  1.   Pity.  Hermione couldn’t imagine being more mortified than she was in this moment.  But then, Lavender joined in, “It’s true.  You should talk to us.  We have a lot more experience with blokes than you do.  In a romantic sense, anyway.  Believe it or not, there _are_ things we know—”



 

Parvati cleared her throat and threw a glare at her best friend. “What Lavender is _trying_ to say is that all witches need other witches to talk to when their prat is being particularly pratish.  And as your roommates, we’re here to offer our services.”

 

Hermione wanted to die.  Just when she thought this day couldn’t get any worse, when she was sure she’d hit rock bottom, she was besieged by her beautiful, popular roommates, the last people on earth she wanted to see her vulnerable.  She’d rather deal with Death Eaters.  At least then she’d know what to do.  Maybe if she ignored them and acted sufficiently rude they’d go away.

 

They didn’t.  Lavender just kept talking.  She didn’t seem to care one smidge whether Hermione participated in the conversation or not.  “The thing you need to realize about blokes, Hermione, is that it isn’t really their fault.  Blokes can’t help but be prats.  It’s their nature.  Now, as I’m sure you’re rather inexperienced with this sort of thing—”

 

Oh, this was just too much.  It may have taken every ounce of strength she had, but Hermione managed to flip over and face her crazy bint of a roommate.  “I’m not crying because of a bloke.”  But she said it far too fiercely to be convincing, so Hermione drew herself up and stated as prissily as she could, “This has nothing whatsoever to do with boys.”

 

Parvati responded with a skeptical look, but Lavender’s eyes lit up and she turned to her best friend, whispering, “See, I _told_ you that was just an ordinary Ron and Hermione row—”

 

“Bollocks!  I know a break up cry when I see one,” Parvati huffed.  “Ron and Hermione _obviously_ went out over the summer and Ron did something stupid—”

 

“No!”  Hermione burst out, trying desperately to keep herself from becoming hysterical.  Why weren’t they listening to her?  “We didn’t … _no_!”

 

“See.”  Lavender flashed Parvati what looked like a triumphant smirk.  It gave Hermione a queasy feeling. 

 

Parvati rolled her eyes at Lavender before turning her attention back to Hermione.  “You don’t have to hide anything from us, Hermione.”

 

Oh, yes.  She _did_. 

 

“We were attacked.  My best friend almost died.  Isn’t that enough to make a girl a bit distraught?” Hermione argued defensively, feeling horrifically guilty even as she said it.  That was what she should be crying over.  What kind of person used her best friend being impaled for her own personal gain? 

 

It didn’t even work.  Parvati smiled knowingly.  “We saw the row.”

 

Oh god.  Had _everyone_ seen it?  Did they hear Ron call her a whore?  The rumors that must be flying through the school all ready.  Hermione usually tried not to concern herself with such things, but Ron called her a _whore_.  She wracked her brain, trying to remember if either of them had screamed something about her begging him to shag her.  Ohgodohgodohgodohgod. 

 

Taking a shaky breath, Hermione forced herself to whisper, “How much did you hear?” Her throat was stating to close.

 

“Not much,” Parvati reassured.  “Just the end.”

 

“We came in at the slap,” Lavender supplied eagerly as if she were recounting a particularly juicy piece of gossip and not the most humiliating moment of Hermione’s … oh dear heavens, the slap wasn’t the end!  “But we couldn’t make out what either of you were saying until you started shrieking about Ron calling you a whore and other blokes fancying you ...”

 

“Oh god,” Hermione moaned, burying her face in her hands.  “Now the whole school thinks I’m a whore.”

 

“Because Ron Weasley called you a name?”  Lavender laughed.  “Hardly.  You _are_ Hermione Granger.”

 

“More likely the rumors will be that Ron was jealous or something.  _Everyone_ knows he’s possessive and overprotective,” Parvati added in what Hermione was sure was supposed to be a soothing voice.  The only thing that might soothe Hermione right now was a rather large club to the back of the head.  Where was a large mountain troll when she needed one?

 

“Yeah,” Lavender agreed with a vigorous nod.  “Oooo, was Ron upset about Seamus or was it someone else?  Oh oh, did you see Viktor Krum this summer?”

 

Hermione gapped at her.  This was _not_ funny.  “No!” she yelped, horrified.

 

“Well,” Parvati said in her serious, I’m-so-wise-about-boys-voice, “ _I_ bet Ron just got scared.  You were getting too serious and he started to back away.  Then he saw you talking to Seamus and went spare, isn’t that right?”

 

Hermione couldn’t even think of a response to _that_ ridiculous fantasy.  Each explanation they came up with was more insane than the last, though at least this one didn’t involve Bulgarian Quidditch players. 

 

When Hermione didn’t deny Parvati’s latest bit of rubbish quickly enough Lavender took her silence as confirmation and nodded sagely, adding, “The coward.”

 

“All boys are,” Parvati agreed with a dramatic sigh.  “I’m sure the Sorting Hat doesn’t take _that_ kind of courage into account when it sorts into Gryffindor.”

 

Lavender snorted.  “There wouldn’t be a single male in the house if it did.  They have no problem killing themselves in a duel or over a silly ball game, but say ‘I love you?’  _Nooo_.  Perish the thought.”

 

This was quite enough.  “You don’t understand.” Hermione took a deep breath and gathered all her strength.  Then she gritted her teeth and lied, “There is _nothing_ but friendship between Ron and me.”  Of course, now, they didn’t even have that.

 

“ _Really_?” Parvati drawled, her tone implying she didn’t believe a word Hermione said.

 

But Lavender’s face broke into a wide smile, “Well, that’s great!”  Hermione’s eyes narrowed and Parvati frowned, turning to whack her best friend on the shoulder.  “What?” Lavender demanded.  “He’s really fit and if Hermione says—”

 

Did she just say …?  Did Lavender just imply that _she_ fancied Ron?  Hermione’s Ron?  Oh god.  A great, horrific ball of panic began to form in Hermione’s chest and quickly grew in size.  All the things Lavender had said suddenly made sense. 

 

She barely heard Parvati interrupt Lavender, reprimanding, “You can’t, you bint.  Ron belongs to Hermione.”

 

Oh dear heavens, Lavender fancied Ron.  She was so pretty.  So blond and bubbly and flirty.  Oh god.  Oh god.  Certainly Ron would rather go out with her.  Hermione was going to throw up.

 

“But she just said—”

 

Again, Parvati cut Lavender off, “Hermione just doesn’t understand the rules, Lav.” Turning back to Hermione, she explained seriously, “Let me explain how the Witch Code works.  This is very important, Hermione, so listen carefully.” 

 

As disgruntled as she was, Lavender managed to nod seriously as if this nonsense was the wisdom of the ages.  Dear god, _why_ hadn’t Hermione put up an Imperturbable?  And how was she going to keep Ron from dating Lavender?  Was there anything she could do?  She’d never be able to sleep in this room knowing Lavender was _touching_ her Ron.

 

“See, girlfriends are not allowed to make a move on a bloke that another friend fancies, not even after a break up,” Parvati began solemnly.  “However, the bloke needs to be claimed to put the rule into affect.  The witch needs to _say_ she fancies him or all bets are off.  It’s just like a secret.  A witch is allowed to talk about anything they want _until_ a friend asks her not to, _says_ it’s a secret.  So, if you don’t tell us you fancy Ron, Lavender and I are allowed to talk to anyone we like about how we _suspect_ you fancy Ron—”

 

“What!” Hermione gasped in horror.  She’d never heard anything so awful.  Witch Code, her bum.  Utter rubbish was what it was.

 

“Because it’s not a secret,” Lavender explained as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “It’s just speculation.  We have no obligation to keep _speculation_ to ourselves.”

 

“ _But,_ if you tell us you fancy Ron, we can’t say anything to anyone.  More importantly, if you keep quiet …” Parvati looked meaningfully at Lavender and bile rose in Hermione’s throat.  “Well, Lavender has this thing for redheads.”

 

“You say that as if it’s a bad thing,” Lavender replied flippantly and Hermione almost screamed.  They were discussing Ron as if he were a favored jumper to be passed around.  Hermione _loved_ him.  Did they have any idea what that meant? 

 

“So,” Parvati finished with a flourish, looking at Hermione expectantly and gesturing toward Lavender, “if you don’t want this hussy—”

 

“Hey.”

 

“—all over _your_ bloke—”

 

Hermione couldn’t stand it any longer.  She panicked.  “I fancy Ron,” she burst out.  Then, horrified, she slapped her hand over her mouth.  What had she done?   She’d gone just as insane as the rest of them.

 

Parvati’s face split into a triumphant smile, while Lavender seemed to wilt.  Well, that was something at least.  The blond stood up from where she was kneeling next to Hermione’s bed and flung herself onto her own, muttering theatrically, “Fine, then.”

 

Oh dear.  Hermione couldn’t believe this was happening.  She just admitted, out loud, that she fancied Ron.  She couldn’t say it to him, but she could say it to her roommates, two of the biggest gossips in the school.  And the ruddy _Witch Code_ didn’t exactly reassure her of their silence.  Pulling herself up straight, Hermione hissed, “If either of you tell _anyone_ , I swear, I’ll turn your hair limp and your nails brown and curly.”

 

But Lavender just shrugged, not looking in the least bit cowed. Shaking her head, she casually summoning what looked like a bag of hair supplies from her trunk.  “That’s your problem with blokes, Hermione, you’re really rather frightening.”

 

Hermione’s jaw dropped and her spine straightened.  “Excuse me!”  She couldn’t believe them.  They came in here, claiming they were there to comfort her, only to trick her into telling her secrets. And then, _then_ they insulted her.  Hermione really was going to hex them. 

 

“Well, it’s not as if you’re not pretty enough,” Lavender said offhandedly, ignoring Hermione’s tone as she pulled out a fluffy ponytail holder and twisted her thick blond hair into a messy bun.  “You’re fit.  Especially now that you _finally_ have some flattering clothing.  Nice plait, by the way.  Did you do it yourself?”

 

“No,” Hermione snapped irritably, feeling as though she’d entered some bizarre alternate universe where she has semi-deep conversations with Lavender Brown, who sandwiched insults between compliments about her hair.

 

Lavender shrugged again.  “I’m just saying it’s pretty, that’s all.  That’s another problem you have.  You can’t take a compliment.”

 

Parvati grunted, rolling her eyes.  “Ignore her.  Lavender enjoys being a bitch.” 

 

Hermione’s eyes flew to the blond, but she didn’t seem to take offense.  Actually, Lavender seemed rather proud of her best friend’s words.  Well, wasn’t _that_ just fantastic.  Hermione was stuck in here with two loons and a lynching mob waiting in the common room.  Maybe she could lock herself in the loo.

 

Reaching over, Parvati grabbed Lavender’s brush.  “Let me comb out this plait,” she said to Hermione, a broad smile on her face, as if they’d always been the sort of friends who played with each others hair.  “It will make you more comfortable.”

 

Why wouldn’t they leave her alone?  “No, I’m fine.  I—”

 

“It will make you feel better,” Parvati insisted.  “Then, later, we’ll nick some mini chocolate-frog swirl ice cream and Lav can tell you about each and every one of the boys who broke her heart.  That should keep us occupied all night.” 

 

“Ha ha.  Very funny,” Lavender drawled.  Then, without waiting for permission, Parvati’s hands were in Hermione’s hair, undoing the now loose weave.  She wanted to protest, but what was the point?  She was utterly defeated, overpowered without the energy to mount a resistance.

 

“As I was saying,” Lavender began again.  “Hermione, your problem is that you intimidate blokes.”  Hermione was being punished by a higher power.  She just knew it.  “Blokes like to bring something to a relationship.  They want to impress a girl, want her to think they’re smart, powerful, that they can protect her.  A bloke can’t _do_ that when the girl’s so bloody perfect at everything, _all_ the time.”

 

Hermione scoffed.  What rubbish.  But then Parvati joined in, “No, its true.  Boys have fragile egos and you are good at everything, Hermione.” 

 

“No, I’m not,” Hermione denied, thinking of all the things she was wretched at.  And whatever girly nonsense they were doing right now was at the top of the list. 

 

Parvati finished taking out the plait and was now massaging Hermione’s scalp as she combed out her hair with her fingers.  It _was_ rather relaxing.  Parvati finished by smoothing her hair around her face and smiling broadly.  Hermione felt as though she were a prized doll. 

 

“Wow,” Lavender gasped, “your hair looks _brilliant_.  How’d you get rid of the frizz?  Is that a potion or a spell?”

 

“Spell,” Hermione mumbled.  Was this really her life?

 

“Great.  You’re even brilliant at beauty charms,” Lavender muttered.  The envy in her tone was obvious and it confused Hermione.  She’d never thought of Lavender envying anythingabout _her_.  Hermione had always believed her roommate to be quite content being pretty and, well, girly.

 

Lavender shook off her bitterness easily, though, leaving Hermione to wonder if she’d imagined it as her roommate continued eagerly, “Now, if we could just get you to use some face coloring spells—”

 

“No!” Hermione gasped, horrified.

 

“I’m just trying to help,” Lavender muttered.

 

Hermione was getting sick of this.  She twisted her hair back away from her face, snapping resentfully, “What’s the point, anyway?  You just _said_ no bloke would ever fancy me because I’m too perfect.”

 

“That’s _not_ what she said,” Parvati defended softly.  “Lavender merely mentioned that blokes are intimidated by you and they are.  It’s not a death sentence. And, besides, you have a history with Ron.  That means something.  He wouldn’t have been your best friend for five years if he were _that_ intimidated.  He just needs to mature a bit.”

 

Hermione met Parvati’s eyes as misery washed back over her and she found herself fighting tears again.  If they only knew how badly Hermione had messed everything up.  She should have just told Ron she fancied him at the beginning of the summer.  It was too late now.  Nothing was going to help.

 

Lavender sighed, flopping back onto her bed with a dreamy look on her face.  “A bloke like that is worth the wait.”  For once, Hermione was inclined to agree with her.  If only waiting would help.  “Hey,” Lavender said excitedly, sitting up quickly, “what do you think about that seventh-year Ravenclaw?  He has red hair, yeah?  What’s his name?”

 

“Lav, love, we’re dealing with Hermione love life now,” Parvati reminded her.

 

But Hermione much preferred they discuss a new crush for Lavender.  Preferably one that took her mind off of Ron.  _Way_ off.  “No, we can discuss a bloke for Lavender.  I don’t have anything to talk about.  I just need to get over him, is all.”

 

Nodding vigorously, Lavender agreed, “That’s exactly what you should do.”  


“Lavender!”  Parvati snapped “You can’t go after Ron!”

 

“That’s not what I meant, you bint.  I _meant_ that if Hermione ‘gets over Ron,’” Lavender held up her hands and made air quotation marks and Hermione had to fight the urge to gag, “he’ll be begging for her back in no time.  It’s the perfect way to get a bloke back.  Make him think you don’t want him anymore.”

 

Hermione almost laughed.  “That’s absurd.”

 

“No, she’d right,” Parvati piped in, earnestly.  It seemed that they were both mental.

 

“See, no one gives me enough credit,” Lavender cried defensively.  “Look, my sister, Amber, she has loads of experience with blokes and she says that if you pull away enough, a bloke will snap right back to you.” 

 

Lavender looked ridiculously proud of herself after she said it, only adding to the sinking feeling in Hermione’s stomach.  Her roommates’ _wisdom_ was an awful lot like the logic that led to her Practicing nonsense in the first place.  But before she knew it, Parvati was smiling, and saying excitedly, “Good, so we have a plan.  Hermione just needs to _look_ as though she’s over the break up.  We’ll help.”

 

Oh please.  Don’t do that.  Hermione life was a big enough mess as it was.  “But we didn’t break up,” she insisted miserably.  “We were never together.”  Not technically, anyway. 

 

She was largely ignored.  Why should Hermione have any say in their plans for _her_ life? 

“Also,” Lavender continued, obviously thrilled that it was her scheme being adopted, even though Hermione had agreed to _nothing_ , “you should work on that intimidating thing you do.”

 

“What!” Hermione screeched.  Now, this was something she would not tolerate.  “I’m not going to pretend I’m stupid and rubbish at things I’m good at just to get a bloke!”  Hell would freeze over before she did.  Not even Ron was worth _that_.

 

“Relax!” Lavender exclaimed, her eyes wide, her hands raised in surrender.  “I’m not suggesting that you dumb yourself down or anything.  You just don’t need to be all, ‘Ooo ooo.’”  Lavender proceeded to do a disturbing imitation of Hermione raising her hand in class, bouncing up and down.  “‘I got 157 on that test and, by the way, I know the answer to that and that and that.  I know _every_ answer.’”

 

Wrapping up her humiliating performance, Lavender fixed Hermione with a hard stare.  “We know you’re clever, Hermione.  _Everyone_ knows you’re the most brilliant witch in the school.  You don’t have to make the rest of us feel like idiots.”

 

Hermione reeled, taken aback.  Did she do that?  Did she really make everyone feel stupid?  She didn’t mean to, she just … well, school was the only thing she was ever good at.  When she was little, her parents were always so embarrassed by the strange things that were always happening around her and the only thing that ever made them proud were her good results. 

 

The kids at her Muggle primary school didn’t like her.  No one liked her.  No, that wasn’t true.  The teachers liked her.  As long as Hermione knew all the answers and followed all the rules the teachers _loved_ her.  And when the teachers loved her, her parents didn’t look at her as if she were a … _disappointment_.

 

But now, maybe, things were different.  She wasn’t an outcast anymore and she couldn’t go on forever scrambling for her parents’ approval.  Hermione looked at Lavender.  The girl genuinely seemed hurt by her actions.  ”I ... I don’t think you’re an idiot,” Hermione softly murmured, not sure what else to say.

 

Lavender shrugged and gave her a small smile, but Parvati grinned widely, wrapping an arm around Hermione’s shoulders.  “Good, it’s settled then.  We’ll have Ron begging in no time.  Now, let’s get that ice cream.”

 

Ice cream.  Great.  Maybe later Hermione would be able to convince her roommates that there was _nothing_ that would to make Ron Weasley come begging for _her_.

 

 

 

 

 


	48. Expectations

 

The next morning, Ginny was still boiling from Hermione’s betrayal of Ron. After sitting with him for most of the night, watching him blame himself, seeing his eyes fill with tears for the first time since they were little, Ginny felt as utterly helpless now as she had then.

Though, as she sat in the Great Hall, what Ginny predominately felt now was rage. And exhaustion. Thank god they didn’t have classes today. Due to recent _events_ classes were delayed. It was the only good news Ginny had heard in weeks.

There was no way Ginny could concentrate on lessons now. All she could think about was how in hell Hermione, her close friend, the girl who Ginny shared a bedroom with all summer long, who was _supposedly_ her brother’s best mate, could have said something so horrible? Hermione had to have known that it was the worst possible thing she could have said to Ron, not only breaking his heart, but tearing his fragile self-esteem to shreds.

Ginny had trusted Hermione, wanted her to be her brother’s girlfriend, believed her bollocks about being heartbroken over him. Ginny had even offered to help her. Well, one thing was clear now, Hermione couldn’t really love Ron, no matter how convincing she’d been this summer.

And Hermione was _awfully_ convincing. Maybe Ginny _should_ hear what she had to say. Glancing down the table to where Ron was sitting with Harry, Ginny took in her brother’s bloodshot, hollow eyes. All the life seemed drained from him. Nothing Hermione could possibly say would justify _this_.

As Ginny watched, Ron’s eyes were drawn to the entrance of the Hall, like a moth too stupid to avoid the flame that would eventually incinerate it. Hermione stalked into the room, her chin high, her nose in the air, acting as though they, and more importantly Ron, weren’t worth her attention. It was the first time Ginny had seen her since the incident and she felt the intense urge to yank Hermione into the corner and let her have it.

Hermione stomped straight up to Professor McGonagall and held out her hand. After a brief exchange that Ginny couldn’t hear, the professor handed the older girl what must have been a schedule and Hermione turned with a flounce, heading straight back out of the room. Harry called her name as she passed, but Hermione was too busy running away to do him the courtesy of answering.

“Coward,” Ginny muttered under her breath. She never would have thought it of Hermione. None of it. She was seeing a whole new side of the witch and Ginny didn’t like it one bit.

Dean whistled, slouching over in the seat next to her as he lowered his voice and remarked dryly, “Well, I suppose that’s nicer than what you were calling her earlier.”

“Perhaps ‘bitch’ would be more accurate?” Emma offered nastily and Ginny bristled, wishing for the thousandth time that the Twittering Twins had picked somewhere else to sit. The least they could do was mind their own bloody business, but that was probably too much to ask.

It was one thing for Ginny to call Hermione a bitch and quite another for someone else to do so, especially when that someone was Emma the Ego. But in the end, Ginny just gave a half-hearted shrug in way of response and went back to her eggs. She couldn’t bring herself to defend Hermione either.

“I dunno,” Dean argued, keeping his tone quiet so that Harry and Ron couldn’t overhear. “I’ve never known Hermione to be mean without pretty considerable provocation.”

Now while Emma just needed to stay the hell out of Weasley business, Dean’s job, as Ginny’s boyfriend, was to be entirely on _her_ side. “Why are you defending her?” she snapped. “You didn’t hear what she said to Ron.”

Dean was smart enough to back down immediately, shrinking back and putting his hands up in surrender. He still hadn’t had the _private_ reunion he so obviously wanted, since Ginny had spent the whole night with Harry and Ron.

It was in Dean’s best interest to keep Ginny happy. Colin, on the other hand, didn’t have snogging rights to worry about and was only too happy to continue the argument. “And _you_ didn’t hear what Ron said to provoke her, Gin. I heard that Hermione slapped him pretty hard. Ron must have said something pretty cruel.”

“ _Nothing_ he could have said justifies Hermione’s response,” Ginny spat bitterly, even as guilt started to rise to surface and not for the first time. She _didn’t_ know Hermione’s side. Ron insisted that he’d said some awful things and it _did_ take two to row like that.

Ginny stole another look at Ron. Instead of shoveling his food down as he usually did, he shifted his eggs around the plate, misery etched on his features. And, again, she heard Hermione’s voice ringing in her ears, yelling for all of Gryffindor to hear that Ron wasn’t good enough for her, that she’d find someone better.

No, Ginny would not be forgiving Hermione Granger anytime soon, whatever her brother had said to provoke her. No one said something like that to a Weasley. Everything they owned may be rubbish, but no one treated them like rubbish. _No one_.

“She always was a bitch,” said Ella (also known as Ella the Empty), in a sing-song voice, making Ginny narrow her eyes. She wished they would stop attacking Hermione, so Ginny get on with wallowing in her self-righteous anger without the annoying sympathy and doubt the Twittering Twins produced.

And, of course, Emma just _had_ to join in. “I can’t believe Hermione Granger ever thought she was good enough for poor lovely Ron.”

Poor lovely Ron? What the hell did _that_ mean? Since when did the Twittering Twins even know Ron was alive? Ginny really hoped this wasn’t what it sounded like. But naturally, Colin, ever blunt, had to confirm her suspicions, “Jealously doesn’t look good on you girls.”

Great. The last thing her brother needed was to have these pariahs after him. Gritting her teeth, Ginny managed to keep her voice level as she whispered, “Since when are either of you interested in _my_ brother?”

Coy smiles came over both girls’ faces, making Ginny’s stomach churn. Emma the Ego shrugged. “Since he got all handsome and fit and hero-like this summer.” Ella hummed her agreement, looking disgustingly dreamy-eyed and vapid.

Colin grunted, rolling his eyes. “Fit as he may be, I wouldn’t get my hopes up, girls. Hermione’s not out of the race yet—oh hey, there’s Ermengarde.”

Ginny’s eyes snapped over to the entrance of the Hall again, this time to watch her fifth roommate walk in with her younger siblings. Ella groaned, whining, “I thought she wasn’t coming to school this year. Didn’t she run away home during the attacks?”

Snorting, Emma nodded. “Ummhmm. I always _knew_ she should have been in Hufflepuff, the ninny.”

Colin and Ginny exchanged long-suffering looks, but when it came down to it, Colin was truly the brave one. Throwing the Twins a challenging look, he stood and called out, “Oi, Ermengarde! Over here.” Coward.

“Oh no, don’t call her over,” Ella moaned, but it was too late, Ginny’s tall, big-boned friend was already awkwardly lumbering over. Colin purposefully budged over to make room for her. Ginny wished Ermengarde would come over and sit between her and Emma, before Ginny gave into the impulse to yank the bint’s well-manicured fingernails off. Ginny’s tolerance for the witch seemed to be at an all time low this year.

As Ermengarde sat, Emma smiled at her with over-done charm, “Erm, dear, how _ever_ did you decide to come back to Hogwarts after the big scare?”

Ermengarde scowled, not in the least bit fooled by the feigned sweetness. “It was my parents’ decision to leave. I was afraid they wouldn’t let me come back, but now that everyone is ...” she trailed off when she noticed everyone’s confused frowns. “You have seen the paper, haven’t you?”

The tone of the group instantly changed as they became quiet and tense. It was Dean who broke the silence, pulling himself up straight, “What does it say?”

Ermengarde reached into her robes and pulled out a folded up copy of the _Daily Prophet._ Ginny’s eyes instinctively found Harry down the table. His eyes met hers, telling her that he was listening and was just as uneasy as she was. Dean gasped as his gaze fell on the paper, then his eyes flew to Harry as well.

Harry was out of his seat in an instant, followed closely by Ron, both coming up behind Dean to read over his shoulder. Colin leaned over the table, straining to see and demanding impatiently, “Well? What does it say? Are you going to read it or not?”

Dean didn’t seem at all certain that he should, but he cleared his throat, took a deep breath, and read the headline, “Harry Potter Boy-Who-Lived or Man-Destined-To-Save-Us-All?”

Harry groaned, closing his eyes and turning from the group, leaving Ginny and Ron to exchange anxious glances. These were the times when Ginny wished she had the right to comfort him. Publicly. She couldn’t do anything with Dean sitting right there.

“There’s a picture on the front cover,” Ermengarde mumbled quietly, timidly. That was when Ginny realized that her friend had folded the paper and they were actually reading page two.

Dean quickly flipped the parchment and spread the paper over the table. The front page was covered with moving scenes of the fighting at King’s Cross. Who the hell stopped to take pictures in the middle of a battle? Idiots.

There was a prominent photo of Harry sending a trunk flying at some Death Eater’s head, but … “Harry,” Ginny called, “you’ll want to see this.”

The largest picture was of Adrianna, looking right terrifying, throwing a curse that caused a Death Eater to crumple in a gory pool of blood. The Headline read, “Bloody Battle at King’s Cross: Is Hogwarts now the only safe place in Britain?”

It was an odd and contradictory headline, but before Ginny had a chance to question it, Harry leaned over her and began to read, his muscles tense and his voice hard, “‘Early yesterday morning the Hogwarts Express was besieged by swarms of Death Eaters, after this _obvious_ target was left unguarded by ministry officials. So, how _did_ Britain escape without a single loss of student life?’”

Ginny swallowed and met Harry’s eyes briefly before he took a shaky breath and continued, “‘As it seems is always the case, the answer lies in our own Boy-Who-Lived, who’ …” Harry groaned and looked away, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose, just below his glasses.

Dean immediately took over, reading, “… ‘who led an army of students to protect themselves, while the Station was defended by a few renegades (the rumored Order of the Phoenix, perhaps?) led by our dear Mr. Potter’s cousin. Ms. Adrianna Potter, an American Auror and Empath, newly-hired professor at Hogwart’s School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, put the Ministry Aurors to shame’ …” Lovely, Tonks and Moody will love that. “… ‘by leading the battle and vanquishing no less than a dozen Death Eaters herself.’”

Harry snorted, snapping, “Give me that.” He snatched the paper off the table as Ginny groaned, imagining the reaction back at Grimmauld Place. Not to mention Adrianna’s. Well, it was a good thing she wasn’t still … what did they call it? Submerged? Though, the _Prophet_ didn’t seem to realize that she was an International Auror, at least.

“Wow. A dozen Death Eaters,” Colin breathed, in awe.

Stupid gullible git. “Were there even a dozen Death Eaters there?” Ginny challenged. Obviously, the entire story was complete bollocks. They were just lucky that the prat reporters hadn’t decided Harry was to blame. _This_ time.

“I saw at _least_ thirty,” Ella piped in, cheerily.

The stupid bint probably couldn’t tell the difference between a Death Eater and a Muggle in a black overcoat. Ginny was about to tell her as much, when Harry interrupted heatedly, “My cousin’s killed five people in her entire life. She didn’t _double_ that number in the fifteen minutes she was on the platform.”

Jaws dropped at the confirmation that their new teacher had killed at all. Ginny didn’t like the condescending look that came into Emma Drokhurst’s eyes. Ermengarde exchanged a look with Colin before arguing, “But the _Prophet_ said—”

“I would think you should know by now not to believe everything that’s written in a newspaper, Miss Spindle.”

The large girl started, then cringed, as Professor McGonagall appeared behind her, a disapproving look on her stern face as she began handing out schedules. Only Harry didn’t seem cowed. His eyes barely rose from the paper as he was handed his bit of parchment.

“Whoa!” Dean burst out as his eyes swept over his schedule. “Did you see how much Defense Against the Dark Arts we have?”

Ginny glanced over at Dean’s parchment. Personally, she didn’t want to even think about schedules until Wednesday. Why were they handing them out now anyway? Ron shrugged in a sullen sort of way that she was sure had nothing to do with his schedule as he muttered, “We were warned.”

Sitting down on the bench next to Dean, Ron reached for a glass of pumpkin juice. Taking a sip, he looked down at his own schedule and promptly choked. He had barely recovered before he stood, sputtering, “This isn’t right.” Looking around frantically, Ron yelled out, “Professor McGonagall!”

But the Transfiguration Professor was already down the table explaining the schedule to the first-years, while Remus, the poor bastard, was passing by the group as he attempted to leave the Hall. Ron immediately accosted him, running up and thrusting the schedule in his face. “Professor Lupin! This isn’t right. This is _not_ my schedule.”

The corner’s of Lupin’s lips quirked as he took Ron’s schedule and looked it over. “It looks like your schedule to me, Mr. Weasley. This _is_ your name on the top.”

Ron frowned at him, frowned _down_ at him to be specific. It was odd to see, but Ron was now considerably taller than Professor Lupin. “But this schedule makes no sense. It … it … it has Potions on it.”

Their Professor lost the battle against his smile. “Well, that, I know, is no mistake.”

Gaping, Ron forgot himself and argued, “But I got an ‘E’ in Potions, so unless Snape finally went around the twist and changed his rules—”

“As a matter of fact, he did,” Lupin replied lightly, handing the schedule back to Ron. “Changed the rules, that is. I won’t comment on the other. Potions is now required for all sixth- and seventh-years who received ‘E’s and ‘O’s on their O.W.L.s and it’s optional for those who received ‘A’s.”

Ginny couldn’t help but smile. She knew Ron’s Potions result was why he was disappointed in his O.W.L.s. Yet, he didn’t seem to be taking the news well, sputtering, “But ... but … Snape doesn’t just change his rules.”

“Well,” Remus chuckled, “it wasn’t exactly his idea. There are quite a few curriculum changes this year. The current arrangement is a compromise actually. _Others_ felt that everyone should take Potions.” He tilted his head, gesturing toward the front of the Hall where Adrianna and Snape appeared to be having an argument.

Ginny glanced back at Harry, who finally seemed to have lost interest in his paper. He leaned over and whispered into her ear, “I would have loved to see _that_ conversation.” Ginny giggled, wishing she wasn’t blushing and literally shivering from the heady effects of his voice in her ear. She was sitting next to her boyfriend for god’s sake. She wished that Dean was the person she automatically turned to when she saw something amusing or interesting or _anything_.

No, it was Harry Ginny smiled up at as he looked over at Ron with unmistakable pride. Ron deserved this. He belonged in N.E.W.T. level Potions. Ginny had to wonder what it would take to make her brother realize that.

At the moment, Ron was still gaping at Lupin in shock. “But I don’t even have the books I need.”

Lupin’s smile widened. “Ron, did you look through your books?”

“Er, not … _carefully_.”

“Look again. I specifically remember your brother buying you an Advanced Potion text,” Lupin said in an amused sort of way, patting him on the shoulder.

“Someone could have told me,” Ron muttered irritably, looking over his schedule again. “Hey, what’s a T.A.?”

“Ah, _that_ ,” Remus said, this time with exaggerated solemnity. “I don’t think I’m the best person to explain. Professor Potter,” he called. Ron’s attention became focused on Adrianna as Remus took advantage of his distraction and finally slipped out of the Hall.

Adrianna readily left an irate Snape and, Ron, too agitated to wait it seemed, met her half-way, stalking forward aggressively and demanding in a furious whisper, “What’s this all about? What’s a T.A.?” Luckily for Ginny and her compulsive need to eavesdrop, Ron’s idea of a whisper wasn’t all that quiet.

“Teacher’s Assistant.” Adrianna’s expression, and tone, suggested she thought the answer obvious. But Ron gave her a frantic what-the-hell-is-that look (poor boy had been through a lot in the last few days) and Adrianna continued mockingly, “that _means_ you assist me and Remus. You know, in teaching.”

Ron grunted in frustration. “”Dran— _Professor_ , the teachers here don’t have assistants.”

Shrugging, Adrianna looked completely unfazed, both by his words and his impending melt down. “They do now. I have to prepare this entire, pathetically out of shape school, for war. _This_ ,” she pointed at Ron’s schedule, “is basic training. Everyone has it twice a week. I’ll need you every morning to assist, as well as for the practical Defense lessons for a number of the younger classes.”

Ginny glanced down at her own schedule, for the first time noticing the Tuesday and Thursday morning training. The school was going to love that. It shouldn’t be a big deal for her, though, not after doing it daily at Grimmauld Place.

Ron’s mouth was still hanging open when he turned to Harry and demanded, “You doing this T.A. thing as well?”

But Adrianna answered before Harry could. “No. Just you.”

“But … but surely _both_ Harry and Hermione are better suited for this sort of thing than I am.” Ron gasped, looking pleadingly at Harry, who just shrugged and smiled. Though Ginny could tell that there was a part of Harry that was hurt that he hadn’t been chosen for this, just like he wasn’t chosen to be prefect.

“Actually they aren’t,” Adrianna stated simply, walking over to Harry. Grabbing his schedule, she waved it in Ron’s face. “See, your friends actually signed up for electives. Hermione’s _over_ -scheduled as it is. Oh, and there are limits to nepotism, you know.” The slight tension in Harry’s shoulders relaxed with her words as she handed him back his schedule. “Besides,” Adrianna finished, looking at Ron more seriously, “ _you_ suit my purposes best.”

Ginny shook her head, chuckling softly to herself as Ron continued to argue, or more accurately _whine_ , at Adrianna. It looked as though her brother wasn’t going to have to time to pine over Hermione. Satisfied, Ginny finally turned her attention to her own schedule. It was mostly as she expected. It was her O.W.L. year and—“Shite!”

Dean eyes flew over, looking at her with concern, but Ginny ignored him. Springing from her seat, she grabbed her brother’s arm and yanked him away from Adrianna. Thrusting her schedule at the witch, Ginny demanded, “What the _hell_ is this?”

Adrianna barely glanced at the schedule before saying calmly, “Those are your private Healing lessons with Poppy.” Damn smug bint.

Ginny’s heart was now beating absurdly fast. It had lodged itself inside her throat and was choking her. She saw her future flashing before her. The sickening lime green of the Healer robes. The suffocating warmth of St. Mungo’s. Blood and death and the grime of potion residue. She could actually _smell_ that sickening hospital smell.

“ _No_!” Ginny denied fervently. “I didn’t agree to this. I’m _not_ doing it.” Adrianna’s eyes flashed and Ginny knew she had pushed too far. She should be scared of her Professor’s reaction, and she was, but she didn’t care. She _couldn’t_ do this.

Adrianna grabbed Ginny’s arm, none too gently, and dragged her over to a more isolated corner of the Hall. Behind her, she could hear the Twittering Twins giggling. “She’s going to get it now.” “Professor Death certainly isn’t going to stand for _that_.” God, sometimes Ginny really hated them.

Adrianna swung her around, forcing Ginny to met her eyes, then whispering harshly, “ _Ginny_ —”

“’Drana, I hate sick people,” Ginny whimpered, interrupting now, before it was too late and she burst into tears. “ _Please_. I didn’t want to be a Healer.”

Sighing, Adrianna deflated a bit. The hand on her arm loosened and the older witch said in a much kinder tone, “Gin, this isn’t a life sentence. You have raw talent—”

“But I don’t _want_ to!”

That mustn’t have been the right thing to say. Adrianna’s jaw clenched and she bit out fiercely, “Do you think that Harry wants to be the damned savior? Do you think he _wants_ the power inside him? Do you think _I_ want to be an Empath, Ginny? We _all_ have gifts we don’t want, but we don’t turn our backs on them.”

A tear slipped free and Ginny was glad Adrianna was blocking her from the prying eyes of the other students. Wiping her cheeks, she whimpered, “I’m not as important as you and Harry.”

“Ugh,” Adrianna grunted, her eyes on the ceiling. “You’re as bad as your brother.” Again she fixed Ginny with her piercing glare. “I seem to remember your talent being rather _important_ on that train, considering my cousin is only standing here because of it. We need a Healer, Ginny. _You four_ need a Healer. The train was just the beginning. Do you want Harry or a member of your family to bleed to death because you ignored your calling?”

“Of _course_ not.” It wasn’t until after she said it that Ginny realized what she’d agreed to. Bloody hell. She couldn’t believe this bollocks. She was actually going to have to spend two hours a week in the hospital wing, learning how to Heal. It wasn’t ruddy fair. “Fine,” she snapped. “But for the record, I hate this.”

“Welcome to the club.” That old bitter humor fell over Adrianna’s face. But Ginny didn’t want to contemplate that. She was too annoyed to think about whether or not Adrianna had felt this way her entire life. Felt as trapped, as terrified, as _resentful_ as Ginny did now.

“This sucks,” Ginny muttered, trying not to stomp petulantly as she went back to the table and took her seat next to Dean. “I don’t want to talk about it,” she snapped, before he could say a word. She knew she was being a bint. A bloody brilliant girlfriend is what she was. If Dean didn’t ditch her by the end of the week it would be a miracle.

The owls had just started arriving and now _Daily Prophets_ littered the table. Harry brought Ermengarde’s copy over to Adrianna, who frowned as she read it. Emma looked at her over the top of her paper, saying cheekily, “Looks like someone plays favorites.”

Ginny almost punched her. “If being a favorite means twice as much work, you can have it,” she muttered.

Then Ella went and proved that there were rocks with more intelligence than her. Looking up at Adrianna, she sucked on a long strand of honey brown hair and asked, “So, Professor, how many Death Eaters _did_ you kill at the train station?”

Adrianna shot her a withering look, but she must have realized that the poor girl was working with limited resources because, instead of a scathing reply, she answered simply, “As far as I know none—”

She was broken off as a large bundle landed in her arms and Ginny looked up to see a large black owl fly away. “Shit,” Adrianna hissed, ignoring the chorus of giggles that resulted and tearing off the wrapping to reveal a large stack of parchment.

“Well,” Adrianna sighed, her eyes scanning the bundle, “it looks like I killed one of them, at least.” She cast the students one last glance, before she stalking out of the Hall, muttering behind her, “Worst part about killing, goddamn paperwork.”

After she was gone, Harry cleared his throat, saying carefully, “I’m sure she didn’t mean that.”

Ron just laughed, mirthlessly. “You sure about that, mate?”

“Well, I’m glad _I’m_ not one of the favorites,” Ella remarked cheerfully and Ginny could only gape at her. What must it be like to have absolutely no idea what is going on. Ella actually made it seem rather pleasant.

Leaning back, Dean groaned. “Anybody else not looking forward to Defense Against the Dark Arts?”

Yeah, this year was going to be _fantastic_. Ginny looked over at Harry, who was back to glaring down at his paper, and then at Ron, who was rubbing the back of his neck and staring at his schedule. She wasn’t the only one thinking that Grimmauld Place was looking awfully good right now.

* * * * * *

Usually having the first few days of class postponed would have been a blessing for Harry, a time to relax and be with his friends, a time to enjoy Hogwarts, his home, before the pressure of classes began. Butthere wasn’t much _usual_ about this year.

Oh, maybe on the surface it was. Harry did spend lots of time outside in the sun, much of it on his broom, flying with Ron. There were the customary long conversations with Hagrid and the other students treated him with a familiar mix of hero-worship and fear. Though the hero-worship seemed to have undergone an Engorgement Charm and the fear was usually accompanied by a million questions about his cousin.

The school was alive with gossip about the people Adrianna had killed, both in the past and at King’s Cross Station. It bothered Harry more than what was said about him, and, he was certain, more than it bothered her.

Harry barely saw his cousin, who besides being in a right foul mood, was busy arranging and planning, grumbling about security and having long meetings with Tonks, who had moved into a flat just next to Hogsmeade station, as close to Hogwarts as a witch could get without being on the grounds. So far, their presence in the students’ lives was subtle and easy to forget.

But any semblance of normalcy was only skin deep and would be gone as soon as classes began. Every lesson would somehow be geared toward war preparation. Their schedule was far too strenuous to keep the D.A. going. Not that there was a need for it any longer, but Harry would miss it, the teaching, the leading. Actually, Ron would have more of a role in that regard than Harry, since he was Adrianna and Remus’ T.A. now.

At first, Harry had been a bit jealous of Ron’s new position. Well, actually, he was still jealous, but now he saw the wisdom of Adrianna’s decision. And, god, Ron needed _something_. His self-esteem was at an all-time low, despite everything he’d accomplished this summer.

Which brought Harry to the most unusual thing about this year, the incredible _lack_ of Hermione. And it wasn’t as if he didn’t try to spend time with her. No one could accuse him of choosing Ron’s side. He’d spent hours chasing her down with the Marauder’s Map, only to end up waiting at the bottom of the girls’ staircase, assuming she’d eventually have to come down for a meal. She never did. Harry had to wonder if she was eating at all.

He missed her. And not just because Ron wasn’t the best of company at the moment. Harry missed _her_. Even time with Ginny couldn’t make it better. Although, it was more time than Harry had thought he could hope for. And still not as much as he would like.

It seemed Harry was rather greedy with his friends’ time lately. He missed his time _alone_ with Ginny. It wasn’t the same when they were out flying. Ron and Dean were almost always there. Though, the little time Harry had alone with her he always managed to turn to rubbish. The conversation always turned to Ron and Hermione and Ginny’s stubborn, irrational anger toward Hermione made Harry so bloody furious.

They still had no idea what Ron said to Hermione to make her blow up the way she had and Ginny refused to approach her in the girls’ dormitory to find out. She had access to Hermione that Harry didn’t and she refused to do one damn thing about it. Three times it led to a row.

Harry felt completely helpless. He’d said everything he could think of to make Ron see sense and talk to Hermione, even told him how she felt about him. But Ron stubbornly refused to believe it. Harry thought maybe if he tried the same tactic with Hermione he might have more luck. _If_ he could get her to talk to him, that was.

Yesterday, Harry managed to corner Hermione in the library. All he was able to get out was that that he was still there for her, still her best friend. As soon as he tried to tell her how broken up Ron was, Hermione promptly burst into tears and rushed out of the library before Harry could say another word.

After that particular incident, Harry was feeling positively murderous toward Ron. He had every intention of giving his best mate the what for, but as soon as Ron found out he’d talked to Hermione, his face dropped and he squeaked out, “Is she all right?”

Ron sounded so pathetic that all Harry could do was snap, “No, Ron. She’s not.”

After that, Ron disappeared even faster than Hermione had. Harry was left all alone, just as he’d always feared he would be if Ron and Hermione became more than friends. And now, ironically, his only hope was to get them back together. The problem was he had no bloody idea how to do it and neither of his _best friends_ were being helpful in the matter.

Hopefully, it would be easier once classes started. Hermione wouldn’t be able to avoid them anymore. If Harry could just get Ron and Hermione talking then … well, things would work themselves out. Harry was sure of it.

But Hermione still managed to avoid them during Charms, hiding among her roommates, who flanked her like the most stylish, frivolous bodyguards in history. They were wearing school uniforms. How did they manage to be stylish in school uniforms? And since when did Hermione do more than _tolerate_ Lavender and Parvati?

Well, they had Defense Against the Dark Arts next and that was Harry’s territory. He wasn’t going to let Hermione get away with this rubbish one more day.

When Ron and he arrived, the classroom was crammed with twice as many desks as usual; all the houses combined for this first lesson. The Slytherins were all ready gathering in the back corner. They were most likely planning something. Harry couldn’t help but smile to himself. He was looking forward to it.

Hermione had already settled herself in the front row, busily scribbling on a piece of parchment. What the hell she was writing, only she knew. This was their first class, for god’s sake. Parvati and Lavender were giggling away in the desks next to her, probably giving poor Hermione a headache. They were _definitely_ giving Harry one.

Ron immediately moved to sit several rows back. Prat. There was no way Harry was going to let him get away with this. Harry had had _quite_ enough. He grabbed Ron’s arm and all but dragged him up to the second row.

“Harry, this isn’t a good idea,” Ron hissed under his breath, resisting Harry’s pull.

“You can’t avoid her forever.”

“I’m not avoiding her. She’s avoiding me.”

“Good, then you won’t mind sitting behind her.” Harry yanked Ron through the desks and pushed him into the second seat before he, himself, sat behind Hermione. He noticed Justin staring at him strangely, but it wasn’t something he had time to worry about.

“Hermione,” Harry called, ignoring Ron’s grunts as he slumped in his seat. “Oi, Hermione!”

When she finally glanced behind her, she immediately took notice of Ron and whipped her eyes back to her desk. Only then did Hermione say primly, “Hello, Harry.”

Great. This was going well. “ _Hermione_ ,” Harry hissed and she turned again, this time in the opposite direction so her back was to Ron. She looked at Harry with wide, questioning eyes. Harry panicked. What was he going to say, again? _Damn it,_ he was rubbish at this sort of thing. “I … er …”

“Class is about to start,” Hermione said shortly. “This isn’t the time, Harry.”

“When _is_ the time?” Harry whispered harshly as Hermione turned back to face front.

“Later.”

Later? Yeah. _That_ would happen. Harry was about to press further when Remus—er, Professor Lupin cleared his throat, announcing, “Let’s begin.”

The class began much as one might have predicted, with Professor Lupin explaining the new structure of the class and a steadily growing din of heckling from the back corner.

Remus handled it with a quiet dignity mixed with a touch of humor, as he always did. Adrianna, on the other hand, was surprisingly silent, sitting on the teacher’s desk at the front of the room, surveying them carefully, while the rest of the class was tense, waiting for the inevitable explosion. But still, the Slytherins, Malfoy in particular, didn’t get what they wanted.

Harry didn’t understand it. What was Adrianna waiting for? She said nothing at all, while Remus continued calmly, explaining about morning basic training, weekly lectures with the entire sixth year class, and smaller practical sessions.

The Slytherins must have suddenly decided they weren’t taking things far enough because, in unison, they started howling like a pack of werewolves. Harry thought Hermione was going to scratch Malfoy’s eyes out. Well, actually, Harry _hoped_ she would, just after he turned every last one of their tongues inside out.

But Remus, he just smiled, sauntering casually over to the desk where Adrianna sat. Once he reached his destination, Remus turned to the class and leaned back against the desk, his hips at his fellow teacher’s knees and, as if his lecture had never been interrupted, stated, “That brings us to the subject of discipline. Professor Potter, we were just discussing that this morning, weren’t we?”

The sniggers and laughter coming from the Slytherin corner lessened a bit and Adrianna’s lip quirked, the first reaction she’d shown all class. “Mmhmm. We certainly were, Professor Lupin.”

“Now, let me see.” Remus tapped his chin. The giggles petered out and finally stopped. The Slytherins were looking at the professors warily now. “We were also talking about the purpose of this class, do you recall? It wasn’t to earn house points or get good marks ...”

Hermione gave a small whimper at the marks part, but clamped her hand over her mouth and Harry had to bite his cheek to keep from laughing. Remus’ lips quirked as he asked dramatically, “Now, what _did_ we say the purpose was, Professor Potter?”

He looked up at Adrianna, who swung her legs, casually crossed at the ankle, answering, “Ah, yes. That would be to learn how _not_ die.”

“That’s right. That’s right. Now I recall. And given the important nature of these lessons we were thinking that discipline would be essential, that we would expect everyone to give one hundred percent? Isn’t that right.”

“Mmmhmm. That is learning _Defense_ Against the Dark Arts. We aren’t here to teach Dark magic.”

“Of course, that goes without saying.” Remus grinned, smoothly. “So, we were considering more creative methods of discipline. Professor Potter, would you like to demonstrate one of our thoughts?”

Without a word Adrianna hopped off the desk and made her way into the class, obviously in no hurry as she looked each student over, snaking her way through the desks, heading toward the Slytherin corner.

Remus was grinning broadly now. “While Professor Potter and I were coming up with ideas she told me the most interesting thing she’s learned through Empathy. It appears that when a person is being rude or misbehaving, they always have a reason.”

Adrianna nodded as she crossed behind Draco and his pack of fools. “There is always something. Anger. _Fear_ ,” she said pointedly as she paused behind Goyle. “Unrequited feelings.” She passed behind Crabbe.

“Or,” Adrianna leaned over Draco until he up sneered at her, “there is something from their past. A need to prove something to Daddy, perhaps.” Draco’s pasty skin turned still whiter and Adrianna smiled as she straightened. “The most interesting part is how the more anxious someone is that I’ll learn their secrets, the more easily the thoughts flow.”

“Fascinating.” Remus hummed and nodded, showing his appreciation. “Yes, we’re considering multiple creative forms of discipline, but now, I think, it is time to start our lecture.” He looked to Adrianna, who nodded her agreement and settled her hip against Malfoy’s desk.

Ron and Seamus sniggered and Harry knew that they would be making rude comments if they weren’t so scared of Adrianna. All in all, Harry was quite enjoying himself. Then Remus waved his wand and a picture appeared on the front wall and Harry didn’t feel like laughing anymore. Not when he was staring at an eight foot high photograph of a young Tom Riddle.

Hermione swung around in her chair, her eyes wide as she mouthed, “Is that …?”

Harry gave a quick, sharp nod, focusing on Remus as he told the history of the orphan in the photograph. Then he flicked his wand again and the image changed, showing Voldemort at the height of his power. There was a collective snarl of outrage from Slytherin as Lupin _dared_ tell the truth, that their disgusting bigoted lord was really a half-blood orphan.

But it was Theodore Nott who hissed, “That’s a lie.”

“Do some research. You’ll be surprised to find who’s lying and who isn’t,” Adrianna remarked calmly, pushing herself off of Malfoy’s desk and walking up the aisle. She paused beside Neville. Then, turning abruptly, she demanded, “What’s wrong with you?”

Neville swallowed. Unable, it seemed, to take his eyes off the giant Voldemort on the wall, he stuttered, “You-Know-Who—”

Sighing, Adrianna cut him short, “No, I don’t know, Neville. _Who_?” At first Harry thought she was just giving him a hard time. Then he looked at the blank look at her face and saw she was genuinely confused. Irritated, but confused. “ _Neville_?”

But all the boy could do was stammer, “H … H … He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named …”

Adrianna grunted. “Oh for god’s sake, _what_ are you talking about—”

“Professor,” Hermione called, her hand shooting into the air as she attempted to rescue them both. Adrianna thankfully allowed it, waving her hand impatiently, indicating Hermione should continue as Harry wondered if it were really possible that his cousin had never heard Voldemort referred to in those terms before. But judging by the look on her face while Hermione explained, it almost certainly was.

“Here, in Britain, Professor, well, there is a bit of a superstition about saying Voldemort’s name.” Neville groaned as Hermione said it again, earning a scathing look from Adrianna, whose eyes only got narrower as Hermione continued, “You mustn’t of heard it, because, well,” she threw a quick glance at Ron, “we stopped that practice last June.”

Adrianna turned to Remus, an incredulous expression on her face, clearly looking for a denial, but the other Professor just shrugged. “I’m afraid it true. For the last fifteen years or so.”

Harry watched Adrianna’s eyes widen, then narrow in anger. Ginny was right, she was more irritable than usual. He wondered if her theory about it being all the teenaged angst in the school was correct or if it was something else.

“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard,” Adrianna snapped. “What the hell did you think would happen?”

“Um, that he’d come back,” Neville answered quietly, which was quite brave of him, Harry thought, or stupid, as it caused Adrianna to turn back to him, her face bright red and _not_ from embarrassment.

“Well, he came back anyway, didn’t he?” Adrianna spat. “All you managed to do was keep the fear alive. He must be quite pleased.” Harry noticed Hermione sat up straighter. She must have felt rather vindicated at the moment. “Well, this is the end. From now on you will call him Voldemort or Tom Riddle. No other name is acceptable.”

“But—” Neville began.

“ _Anywhere_. I hear any You-Know-Whoever nonsense and you will fail this class. Is that clear?” There was a chorus of mumbles and Remus grimaced a bit, clearly thinking she’d gone too far. “Is that _clear_?”

“Yes, Professor,” the class responded, making Harry smile as he sat back in his chair and the class resumed. Well, then. He really _was_ going to enjoy this class.

Harry knew most of what was being taught so he only half-listened to the lecture, watching his cousin instead as she walked around the room, surveying everyone carefully, taking in their emotions and thoughts. It occurred to him, then, that Adrianna might just be the answer to his other problems as well.

He was still contemplating how to go about this new plan, _if_ he should go through with it at all, when class ended and Ron leaned over to him, whispering, “I have to meet Ad—Professor Potter to talk about this T.A. shite, can you … do you mind going to lunch with Hermione? I don’t think she’s been eating very well.”

Harry blinked at his best friend, torn between annoyance that Ron seemed to think Harry had to be asked to take care for Hermione, whom he loved like a sister, whom he had been _trying_ to take care of all week, and heart-wrenching sympathy. The poor idiot, he really loved her. Harry had to do something. And Adrianna, she was his last resort.

So, Harry ignored his impulse to make a biting comment about exactly how hard he _had_ been trying to help Hermione, while Ron hid from her like a coward. And, instead, clapped his best mate on the shoulder, whispering, “I’ll do my best.”

Ron nodded, anxiously running his hand through his hair and sitting back with a hefty sigh. Harry could feel Ron’s eyes on his back as he approached Hermione, who, for her part, didn’t seem to be able to get her books in her rucksack fast enough.

Smiling in a way that he hoped was charming, Harry sidled up next to her and asked, “Lunch?”

Hermione’s eyes immediately flew to Ron, who quickly averted his to the floor. She swallowed and shook her head. “No, I—”

“Ron won’t be there,” Harry whispered, hastily. “He has a thing with ‘Drana.”

“You have to call her ‘Professor’, Harry,” Hermione reprimanded in a whisper. “It’s only proper.”

It felt so good to be reprimanded by Hermione after so long that Harry had to smile. “Please, eat with me. I hate eating by myself with everyone looking at me.”

“You won’t be alone. You’ll have—”

“ _Please_.”

Hermione sighed, giving him a small defeated smile. “Well, I suppose—”

“Great. Now, I just need to talk to Adrianna,” Harry interrupted rapidly, already backing away before Hermione could protest and leave as she so obviously wanted to. “Wait here and I’ll be right back.”

Hermione looked at him incredulously, but Harry turned and jogged to the front of the room, where Adrianna was shuffling through a stack of parchment. Usually, after the first class, students lined up to talk to the professor, but they seemed too shocked and, frankly, too terrified to do so today.

Adrianna looked at Harry, with a subtle, but meaningful look that said, “can you believe this shite?” Harry bit back a laugh, asking, “Can I talk to you? In private.”

His cousin glanced around the room and shrugged. “No one’s listening. What’s up?”

All right then. Feeling the weight of her eyes on him, Harry cleared his throat, considering his words carefully. He really wasn’t very good at this.

“Ron and Hermione will work things out,” Adrianna whispered abruptly. And before he could say anything more, she went back to reading her parchment. She was dismissing him. She didn’t understand.

“It’s worse than it’s ever been, ‘Drana,” Harry declared in a harsh whisper. “We _need_ to do something.”

Adrianna raised one eyebrow. “We?”

“I’ve _tried_ ,” Harry protested, squeaking a bit before he caught himself. “I’ve done everything I can think of. They’ll listen to …” She was frowning at him disapprovingly, making Harry increasingly anxious. Damn it! “Look, Ginny told me you interfered with Bill and Tonks.”

“I did _not_!” Adrianna protested indignantly, her shoulders squaring.

It was Harry’s turn to look incredulous, challenging, “They barely acknowledged each other’s existence before you showed up.”

“That’s just because—”

“ _You_ were the one who convinced Tonks to take on that form.”

“That has nothing to do with—”

But Harry was on a roll, pressing on, “And I know you’ve been protecting and encouraging Ron and Hermione’s relationship all summer. Don’t deny it.”

“I _am_ denying it,” Adrianna snapped. “I have done no such thing.” She started to turn away and Harry’s hopes withered, but then she turned back, hissing, “And even if I did, what exactly do you want me to do now?”

Thank god! Excitedly, Harry explained, “I’ve tried to tell them how each other feels. They don’t believe me. But you’re an Empath, they’ll believe you. If you just—”

“Oh no. No way. I can’t betray something like that, something I’ve sensed Empathetically,” Adrianna whispered harshly. “You know that, Harry.”

“But it would be for their own good,” Harry argued in what he knew was a whine.

Adrianna’s eyes flashed. “Do you know how slippery a slope that argument is? Some might argue that it would be for your own good if I told Ginny how _you_ feel.”

Harry stiffened, gaping at her as she looked at him challengingly. “That’s different!”

“Really? How?”

This wasn’t going the way Harry had anticipated. Not at all. Bloody hell and this was the only plan Harry had. “Fine, don’t tell them how they feel. But can’t you do _something_?”

“No!” Adrianna insisted in a definite tone that squashed all Harry’s hopes. “Absolutely not. I do not interfere in matters of the heart and that’s the end of it.”

* * * * *

After Defense Against the Dark Arts ended, Ron waited, slumped in his chair, for the room to clear out. He wasn’t exactly looking forward to spending his lunch with Adrianna discussing this stupid assistant position. A position, by the way, that he couldn’t possibly be qualified for and that was likely given to him during one of Adrianna’s not so infrequent flights into insanity.

But, then again, Ron wasn’t exactly looking forward to anything lately, so, really, what was the difference? At the moment, he was making a good show of staring off into space, when, in reality, he was spying on Hermione as she nervously shuffled through the contents of her rucksack and waited for Harry.

At least she was waiting this time, after being absurdly stubborn, not to mention rather spiteful and self-destructive in her avoidance of Harry. This mess was Ron’s fault. It wasn’t fair for her to take it out on Harry. Or herself.

Not that Ron wasn’t still angry at Hermione. Well, sort of he was. Not really. He _wanted_ to be furious at her. For suggesting Practice in the first place. For not talking to him on the train. For slapping him. For saying that he wasn’t good enough. But that was absolutely true, wasn’t it? Was it fair for to be angry when it was true? And how could he when he was so worried about her?

As soon as Hermione disappeared up those steps after their bloodbath of a row, Ron had known he was wrong. Hermione wasn’t a slag, he’d completely overreacted about Seamus. And the fact that Ron hadn’t seen Hermione and Seamus together since the day they arrived at Hogwarts only proved how daft he’d been.

Ron shouldn’t be staring. It was over. Hermione knew the truth now. Ron wasn’t good enough to be with her. He wasn’t even good enough to Practice with. So, this watching every move she made thing probably wasn’t all that healthy. But his mental health was the least of his concerns nowadays. And, god, he was starved for the sight of her. He’d barely seen her in days. _Days._

Hermione seemed thinner, even after only a few days. Her face was thin and drawn, her eyes, red and puffy. She wasn’t sleeping well and it was all his fault. Ron humiliated her in front of the whole school, said things that were so hurtful he was never going to be able to make up for it. Hell, he didn’t even know how he was going to be able to forgive _himself_.

Waiting for Harry, Hermione grew increasingly restless. Ron just hoped she wouldn’t bolt before Harry was done with whatever bollocks was keeping him. Harry and Hermione needed each other. Maybe Ron could worry less and be able to concentrate on moving on if he knew someone he trusted was taking care of her. Someone who _wouldn’t_ take advantage and put his grubby hands all over her.

But when they finally left, Harry’s hand lightly grazing Hermione’s back, a purely _friendly_ gesture, Ron was so jealous he couldn’t see straight. _He_ wanted to be the one touching her. He wanted … he just wanted things the way they were before the Department of Mysteries. He wanted it to be just the three of them again.

Ron wanted Hermione to be excited that he was taking N.E.W.T. level Potions and to tell him that she was proud he was chosen to do this T.A. thing. He needed to her to tell him that she’d help him get through it. He didn’t know how he could without her. He didn’t want to.

And, god, Ron wished that he didn’t know what it was like to taste and touch her. Maybe then, he could think of something, _anything_ else.

“Ron.”

He looked up, startled to see Adrianna standing in front of him. Though, that just proved he was an idiot, since he was waiting there to talk to her. She gave him an expectant look and Ron hauled himself out of his chair, following her up the stairs into the office. It wasn’t quite unpacked yet, trunks, parchment, and books everywhere. Ron wondered if Remus and Adrianna were sharing or if this was hers alone, but wasn’t interested enough to ask.

“Let me just get out some lesson plans,” Adrianna muttered as she leafed through the multiple piles, moving around to her side of the desk. Across from her, Ron fell bonelessly into a chair, watching her move quickly around the room and wondering how anyone could have so much energy and what the hell the point of it was anyway.

“We should go over the morning training sessions first. We start tomorrow with the fourth and fifth …” she trailed off, then, abruptly, looked up at Ron and frowned. Adrianna’s tone was more familiar when she said, “God, Ron, I don’t know if I can handle all the teen angst you’re radiating.” She tempered her words with a small, sympathetic smile. “You’re giving me a headache, you know?”

Great, now he had to worry about hurting _her_ as well. Ron forced himself to give some semblance of a smile and mumbled, “Sorry.”

Adrianna sighed. Rather dramatically, to tell the truth, and pushed her parchment to the side as she, too, collapsed into a chair. Slumping back in a very un-professor like manner she announced, “I don’t interfere. You know that, right? I don’t.”

“Um …” Ron sputtered, having no bloody clue what she was going on about. She could be as mental as Hermione sometimes. Was that what Charlie saw in her? Was there something in the Weasley blood that made it so they could only be attracted to loony witches? Next thing he’d know George would be dating Luna Lovegood.

“I know,” Ron assured, because that’s what Adrianna seemed to want to hear and he couldn’t think of any reason to disagree at the moment.

She nodded as if he’d answered correctly. Which was strange since Ron would have thought her Empathy would reveal how full of shite he really was. But then Adrianna leaned forward, resting her head on her hand as she looked him over carefully, finally asking, “What’s wrong?”

Ron shrugged. What wasn’t wrong? They were in the middle of a war and in one moment of sheer and utter stupidity he’d lost his best source of strength and comfort, his best friend and the girl he loved. But Adrianna knew that. She knew _everything_. Why was she torturing him with questions?

Well, he didn’t want to talk about Hermione and if Adrianna was asking then she was giving him the choice not to. Ron looked Adrianna in the eye and gave her a partial truth, “I’m not the right person for this Assistant thing. So unless you’re looking for someone to carry your books, you should find someone more … _right_ for the job.”

It wasn’t until he said it out loud that Ron realized just how much it was bothering him. This T.A. thing couldn’t result in anything but humiliation. What the hell was Adrianna thinking, putting Ron in front of the whole school as an example of proper Defense? He was lucky he got the spells to work half the time.

“Ron,” Adrianna drawled dryly, “are you suggesting that _I_ made a mistake when I chose you?”

Good god. That’s not what he meant. “No, I … no, Miss … I mean, Professor. I …”

As Ron sputtered, Adrianna’s face lost her McGonagall-ish look and she laughed at him. It was hard to decide which was better. Then grabbing a discarded piece of parchment, she rolled into a ball and tossed it at him. “Don’t ‘Professor’ me. It’s annoying enough in class.”

Ron laughed a bit as well then and was able to relax back into his chair, thankful he wasn’t in trouble. Professional or not, it was also a relief that Adrianna was the same person she had been all summer. It was comforting that _something_ was the same as it was a week ago.

He didn’t have time to really let his guard down, though, before Adrianna stated, “You know, after meeting your entire family I’ve come to the conclusion that you are the one most like Charlie.”

Ron almost choked. No one had _ever_ suggested that he was anything like his Quidditch-god, dragon taming older brother before, not in his wildest fantasies, and coming from Adrianna …

Ron laughed bitterly. “That bad, eh?” Considering the fact that Adrianna couldn’t stand to be in the same country as Charlie, it certainly couldn’t be a good thing. Did Adrianna think Ron had mucked things up as badly with Hermione as Charlie had with her? Was she sitting there thinking Ron was just one giant prick?

Adrianna scoffed and rolled her eyes. Ron was really going to have to try to moderate his thoughts around her. Though, that sounded like too difficult a task to bother with.

He didn’t have time to contemplate it further as Adrianna sat forward again, saying in her most menacing tone, “Ron, I’m going to tell you something and if what I’m about to say gets back to Charlie. Or Bill. Or _anyone_. I’ll—”

“Hex my bits off?” Ron provided, trying to hide a smile. As scary as Adrianna sometimes was, he was starting to recognize when she was all bark.

Her mouth fell open at that. Then her lip quirked and she got a slightly amazed, almost proud look on her face as she murmured, “Something like that.”

“I won’t. Tell, I mean,” Ron assured, suddenly feeling better than he had in days. And he found, incredibly, that he very much wanted to know what Adrianna had to say, wanted to be the one given the confidence, the one who was trusted.

Adrianna nodded before turning her eyes to the ceiling and beginning, “Things went very, very wrong between me and Charlie. He did things, we both did, that are very hard to forgive and impossible to forget, but, _but_ we were together for seven years and …” Taking a deep breath, she pulled her legs up onto the chair in front of her, holding them to her, destroying any image that was left of the professor facade. “Charlie was, remains, the best wizard, the best Auror, the best _man_ , I’ll ever know.”

She moved her gaze back to Ron and he sat forward, his hands surprisingly sweaty as he digested her unexpected words. Adrianna now had his complete attention.

“Charlie is loyal to a fault, passionate, brilliant, talented. He’d do anything to protect the people he loves.” As Adrianna talked she kept the full force of her gaze on Ron and he shifted uncomfortably. Surely, she wasn’t suggesting that those things described Ron as well. Maybe some of it, but …

Clearing his throat, Ron laughed uneasily. “I still don’t see why I’m the most like him. Surely, the others …” _All_ of his brothers were smarter, braver, more talented than him. Even Percy, the poncy git. “I’m much taller, you know, than Charlie. And scrawnier. My hair is redder,” he blurted out, now wishing they could talk about anything else.

“That’s the sun,” Adrianna replied evenly. “His hair is actually _exactly_ the same shade underneath. His eyes are the same shade too.”

What did she mean by that? Adrianna didn’t mean that Ron looked the most like Charlie. What was she doing? Tearing his eyes away from her, he shifted restlessly in his chair. What was the point of all this?

“Hermione told you what Charlie really does for a living, didn’t she?”

Ron jerked his head up, eyes wide. As soon as he thought he knew where the conversation was going, Adrianna changed course and, shite, was he getting Hermione in trouble? She’d promised not to tell anyone what Adrianna said that day at Diagon Alley. “She … Hermione didn’t mean—”

“It’s fine,” Adrianna interrupted, waving a dismissive hand. “I didn’t expect her to keep it from you.” At that Ron looked down, his ears burning at the casual reference to the intimacy they had once shared. It was all over now.

But before Ron could slip back into self-pity, Adrianna began again, rocking back in her chair. “When Charlie first got to the International Academy, he didn’t think he belonged there. He was convinced he was going to flunk out, kept going on and on about how Bill was the smart one and Charlie was only got into the Academy on his ‘fluke’ talent with dragons. He was the dumb athlete. He didn’t have nearly enough magical talent to survive the Academy.”

Ron stared at her unblinkingly, completely fascinated and, not just a little, unsettled. It was very strange to hear this side of his idolized brother’s life. On one hand, Ron had never thought Charlie to be anything but confident and content with his role in life and in their family. But on the other, that _was_ his role. Bill was the clever one, Charlie the athlete. Percy was the proper one, boring and perfect. The twins were funny. Ron was … Ron was the youngest brother, nothing special.

But Ron remembered how shocked he had been, how intimidated, when Hermione told him that Charlie was an International Auror. Just one more perfect brother. Did Charlie really feel as unsure and self-conscious about his abilities when he was Ron’s age as Ron did now?

Adrianna gave Ron a look, one that seemed to imply that he was finally beginning to get whatever it was she was trying to tell him and continued, “One of the first things we had to do was get our International Apparation License. Charlie kept complaining about how bad he was at Apparating. Missed his target by a mile when he’d first tested, blah, blah. He didn’t even want to try, argued he could fly anywhere he needed to go.”

Pausing, her posture became straighter as she said in a firm, proud voice, “Charlie can Apparate from Buenos Aires to Hong Kong and hit a target no larger than a dessert plate. He has organized, planned, and led missions too sensitive to make it into print of any kind. And he’s the only man or woman in history to successfully _train_ a dragon, fluke or not.”

Ron’s stomach clenched. “’Drana, I can’t do any of that.” He couldn’t even begin to live up to that sort of legacy. He almost wished he’d never found out about it. This was worse than Bill, worse than Percy, worse than … _anything_.

Frowning, Adrianna sighed. “I’m not telling you this story so that you can live up to your brother, Ron. I’m telling you because … Charlie had to get out of Bill’s shadow and stop comparing everything he did before he could even think about achieving the things he wanted to.”

 _That_ Ron could relate to, which he supposed must be the point. Ron had always felt as though everywhere he went there was this huge looming shadow from the five that came before. It never occurred to him that escaping it was a possibility. Was there really something he could do about it?

That thought must have irritated Adrianna, because she grunted in frustration, saying sarcastically, “Well, you _could_ be like Percy and devote yourself so thoroughly to competing with your brothers that you block out everything else. Or you could do what you’re doing and give up, put all your energy into keeping expectations so low that you never have to try. _Or_ you could forget about all that and be who you want to be.”

Ron let out a long hissing breath. Was that really what he was doing? Giving up before he even tried? Was he so convinced that he couldn’t be as good as his brothers that he … what? Decided to be a no one? Did Adrianna really think he had the potential to be more?

He didn’t even realize how long the silence stretched after that. Ron was too busy trying to catch up with his own thoughts. His whole life had been thrown into clear and sudden definition and he had no idea what it meant.

It wasn’t until Adrianna called to him that he realized that his heart was pounding and he felt winded. “Ron?” He snapped his head up and looked at Adrianna with increasing trepidation, genuinely afraid of what she’d say next. “Now are you going to tell me what’s _really_ wrong?”

His throat closed. There was no use in denying it now. “Hermione.” It came out like a croak. Ron waited for Adrianna’s response, but she just continued to look at him expectantly. She wasn’t going to make this easy on him, was she? Finally he added, “We had a row.”

“A row?”

Definitely not easy. Was Adrianna trying to force him to stop being compliant about his life? Was that what this was all about? Because it made him want to hide in a dungeon somewhere. Sighing, Ron finally admitted, “A really _bad_ row. Hermione, uh, she’s never going to forgive me.”

Adrianna’s eyebrow rose skeptically. That looking right into a bloke thing she did, Ron was really starting to hate that. “Did you ask her to forgive you?”

Ron grunted, laughing bitterly at the absurdity of it as he slumped back into the chair. “I didn’t have to.”

“So, you can read minds, too, now?”

His eyes flew back to Adrianna, but all he did was scowl at her cheek. Ron didn’t need to read minds to know how badly he’d messed things up with Hermione. She wasn’t speaking to him, was she?

Adrianna let out another frustrated grunt before leaning forward and asking, “Ron, are you in love with Hermione?”

Ron choked. Was Adrianna trying to kill him? Make him expire from stress and humiliation and the forced admission of things that should never be admitted? She was mad for even asking such a thing. Or sadistic.

“Ron! Are. You. In. Love. With. Hermione?”

Definitely sadistic. She was deliberately torturing him. “Yes! All right?” Ron snapped, as he hid his eyes behind his hand in a childish attempt to disappear right there and then.

“And I don’t suppose you tried telling her that?” And the most annoying thing about Adrianna was the way she insisted on asking probing questions that she all ready knew the answer to.

“Now, why would I do that?” Ron asked with just as much cheek and twice the bitterness. He was here to talk about a job, not be psychoanalyzed.

But Adrianna’s voice was aggravatingly calm and controlled as she threw back, “Why _wouldn’t_ you?”

Ron narrowed his eyes at her. “I dunno, maybe because she’s _not_ in love with me.” Why would someone like Hermione ever be in love with a prat like him?

“Really?” Adrianna asked, sounding surprised, which was ridiculous, since she was an Empath and knew absolutely _everything_. “Says who?”

“Says …” Ron trailed off, because as embarrassing as it was it took him that long to realize that Adrianna _was_ an Empath which meant she knew things he didn’t. “Wait a minute, you know _exactly_ how Hermione feels about me,” he accused, sitting up and leaning forward, tense. Her tone implied … he was terrified to even think about it.

Adrianna didn’t blush or look guilty at being caught. Instead, she scowled, barking irritably, “Yes, I do. But since I can’t tell you, let’s just pretend I don’t know and talk through this together.”

Ron almost roared in frustration. Why couldn’t she just tell him? Raking his hands over his face, he wondered if this was some sort of vicarious punishment for what Charlie put Adrianna through. Or maybe Hermione’s feelings toward him were too awful for Adrianna to admit and—

“Oh for god’s sake, Ron,” Adrianna burst out. “Can you at least _try_ to stop your insecurities from making all your conclusions for you and think about this logically? For once?”

“Hermione’s the logical one,” Ron sniped, looking away from her and wishing this was over.

Apparently, Adrianna didn’t like his glib reply, because she leaned forward, her voice rising, “You’re a bright guy, Ron. Fully capable of logic, believe it or not. Stop acting like a willful child and tell me what happened with Hermione this summer. And start from the beginning.”

He gapped at her. Why did Adrianna even care? This had nothing to do with—

“Ron!”

He jumped at her tone and yelled back, “Fine!” But it wasn’t fine. Ron didn’t want to do this. He may want to know what Adrianna was implying about Hermione’s feelings for him and Adrianna’s belief in Ron’s abilities may be incredibly seductive, but, still he did _not_ want to do this.

Muttering to himself, Ron reluctantly began, “Hermione and I … I was having nightmares and Hermione was helping me . That’s how it started.” It had worked too. No nightmares now. No, just graphic, sleep-destroying sex dreams about Hermione and things he could never have.

“And …”

“And?” Ron asked incredulously. Was Adrianna really going to make him relive the entire torrid summer? He really didn’t think he deserved to be punished quite _this_ much. “ _And,_ I reckon, I accidentally kissed her. Or she kissed me. It was hard to tell.” He shifted uncomfortably in the chair, fighting the feelings the memory invoked.

“Hmm. Well, regardless of who kissed who first, Hermione _did_ participate in the kiss?”

“Yeah.” So, what?

“ _So_ ,” Adrianna repeated, her voice dripping with sarcasm, “why do you think she did that?”

“Because she wanted to Practice?” Ron answered immediately, his tone mirroring hers in sarcasm.

Adrianna actually laughed at that. Laughed. A right bint, was what she was. “Practice?” she repeated in a tone that implied Ron was an idiot. “Does that make sense to you? Is that something you would think _Hermione_ would want?”

What the hell Adrianna was going on about now? Of course, it was about Practice. Hadn’t she been reading them all summer? Didn’t she know what was going on? “Yeah, it does. Hermione likes to do things correctly. She researches. She practices. _Everything_.”

“Hmm, yes, and those _other_ activities you’ve been engaging in this summer,” Adrianna drawled, making Ron blush, “do they seem like something the Hermione you’ve been best friends with, for five years, would engage in? For, what, research purposes?”

Ron opened his mouth to yell back, to say Hermione would and did do exactly that and what the hell was wrong with it, anyway. But then it occurred to him; that was exactly the thing that Ron had been wondering for weeks now! Why _was_ Hermione doing these strange things?

“That’s just the thing. I can’t figure it out at all,” Ron burst out, now feeling an eager excitement bubble up inside of him. Was Adrianna going to help him understand? That would make this torture almost worthwhile. “It’s not like Hermione at all. I just don’t get it.”

“So, why do you think she might be doing this?” Adrianna pressed and Ron’s mind started to whirl with the possibilities.

Why _was_ Hermione acting so strange? Oh god, why hadn’t Ron thought of it earlier? “Do you think something happened to her? A spell or a curse that changed her personality or—“

“Oh dear god!” Adrianna exclaimed, throwing her head back in frustration. “Ron, this is ridiculous! There’s dense and there’s dense. Now _think_ , barring obscure spells and a radical personality change, don’t you think there’s another, more mundane, explanation?”

  
Ron could only think of one other explanation and it certainly wasn’t mundane. It was something he was too terrified to consider. The mere idea left him rather dizzy. Was Adrianna actually suggesting Hermione was in love with him?

“Ok, fine, let’s review the evidence then, shall we?” Adrianna asked, almost sounding annoyed. “So, Hermione, who, while passionate, is known for her self-control and relative conservatism, _climbs_ into your bed to comfort you. Then, she comes up with an elaborate plan so that the two of you can spend the summer ‘improving your skills.’ Meanwhile, you’re going at it like rabbits. Finally, after an argument with you, she is so devastated that she completely isolates herself and stops eating. What does all that add up to, Ron?”

He swallowed. Ron’s heartbeat was roaring in his ears. He barely heard himself when he managing to squeak out, “That she fancies me?” He almost said “love,” but couldn’t quite make himself. Fancying was enough to make Ron woozy.

“Hallelujah!” Adrianna exclaimed, throwing herself back in her chair with a sigh of relief, looking rather exhausted.

Despite himself, Ron laughed, making him think he’d gone mad. He leaned back and rubbed his face as a giddy sort of elation rumbled inside him. Hermione fancied him. Maybe even loved him. It wasn’t about Practice. It was never about Practice. He’d been so stupid. But maybe he’d suspected it all along, just hadn’t allowed himself to dwell on it.

Looking back at Adrianna, a slow lop-sided smile spread across his face and he said, “You know, since you know exactly how Hermione feels about me, it would be awfully cruel to let me believe she fancied me if she didn’t.”

Adrianna laughed in return, smiling cheekily. “Well, I _can_ be rather cruel.”

Ron let out a bark of a laugh, shaking his head. It was almost too much to comprehend. He needed to rethink the entire summer, everything that happened, the row—but did this really make a difference? Wasn’t it too late? He’d still said the most awful things. He _still_ wasn’t good enough.

“It wasn’t not knowing how Hermione felt that kept you from telling, was it?” Adrianna asked quietly.

Ron squeezed his eyes shut, feeling them burn as he nodded. “I’m not enough for a girl like Hermione, ‘Drana. I’m not in her league. She’s the Montrose Magpies and I’m barely the Cannons. She deserves so much more and now she knows it.” _This_ was why Ron hadn’t let himself dell on her feelings. It didn’t change anything. It just made it more painful.

“She knows it, huh?”

God, not that cryptic shite again. “Yes! Hermione said—”

“Did you mean the things _you_ said during the fight?”

“No!” Ron snapped, then yelled back in frustration, “but _she_ did.”

“How do you know?”

“Damn it, Adrianna, stop it! Just say what you want to say!” Ron screamed, temporarily forgetting she was his professor.

Adrianna frowned, but instead of getting defensive she sighed and said, “Fine. We’ll try a different tactic. You don’t think you’re good enough. Why the hell not?”

 _That_ was a question Ron could answer. “Well, I’m nowhere near clever enough. I’m not capable or strong or charming or—”

“Dear god, Ron. Do you really believe this crap?” Adrianna looked genuinely hacked off, insulted even.

Ron’s face burned and fury rose in him, he couldn’t believe Adrianna was forcing him to go through this. “I’m mediocre at _everything_ ,” he yelled. “My grades are average. I’m an average Quidditch player. I’m an awful prefect. I treat Hermione badly. She deserves _more_!”

When Ron was finished he was panting and close to tears. Could he crawl under a rock now? He waited for Adrianna to disagree, but she didn’t. How could she? These were facts. No one could dispute them.

When Adrianna finally spoke, it wasn’t what he expected. “Now we’re getting somewhere. So, why do you choose to be these things?”

“What?” Ron gasped.

“You _are_ lazy. You _do_ perform at a very mediocre level. Why? You have the skills, the talent, the intelligence to do much more, so why don’t you?”

Ron gaped, sputtering, “But—”

Adrianna sat forward again, her face stern, “Ron, you’re almost seventeen years old. It’s about time you decide who you want to be. Not who you think Hermione would want, you obviously have no clue to what _that_ is, but what _you_ want to be, the sort of person you’re going to be. And if you’re too lazy to do what it takes to become that person, then you really don’t deserve her. Hermione deserves someone who will fight, for himself _and_ for her.”

Ron felt as if he’d been punched. He felt naked, stripped bare and more vulnerable than he ever had in his life. Who the hell was Adrianna to rip away all his defenses like this? Furious, Ron lashed out, “You mean the way Charlie fought for you when he up and left.”

Her rage came on so quickly that Ron was genuinely frightened, jumping as she slapped the desk and snapped, “When are you going to stop comparing yourself to your brothers and be your own wizard?”

Adrianna stared at him hard for long minutes while Ron’s anger cooled and he started to feel shame for dragging her past into this when she obviously was just trying to help him. Though, her brand of “help” tended to be a bit on the rough and dirty side.

After a bit, Adrianna let out a sigh. Saying in a soft voice, she looked down and reached for the parchment she had pushed aside, “Let me know what you decide to do. Now, these lesson plans.”

She handed him the schedules and Ron’s hands shook, but he took a deep breath and tried to concentrate as she explained them. Everything they had talked about, it was too much to digest just yet. “So, um,” Ron cleared his throat as she finished, “you’ll need me to help keep the younger students from getting out of hand, since there will be so many of them?”

Adrianna nodded. “And demonstrate the correct technique. Walk around, correct them when they are doing things wrong. Charlie left because I asked him to.”

Ron’s head snapped up in surprise. Adrianna’s eyes were still firmly on the page and her tone never changed, but her cheeks were flushed. “I’ve always felt him stronger than everyone else and his emotions, they were hurting me, so I asked him to leave and he did.”

Oh god. Ron really _shouldn’t_ have said anything. He could be such a git sometimes. “’Dran—”

“He’ll be back. I’m sure of that.” Adrianna looked up and, suddenly, she seemed just as vulnerable as Ron had felt.

He managed a small smile, lifting the schedule again. “So, er, this doesn’t look much different from what we’ve been doing every morning all summer long.”

“We won’t go into the advanced stuff with the whole class.” Adrianna smiled back warmly. They understood each other.

Ron swallowed. “I can do this,” he said, trying to sound more confident than he felt. “What about—?”

“Ron, do you know why I _really_ chose you to be my T.A.?”

Wow, the hard stuff just wouldn’t end, would it? Trying to lighten the mood, Ron joked, “Because I remind you of Charlie and you miss him.”

Adrianna gave a small huff of a laugh and smiled in appreciation. “Besides that. Ron, I chose you because I need a role model for these kids, someone they will _want_ to be like. Harry’s too high up on a pedestal for them to reach. Hermione’s too teacher-like. You, you’re relatable. You’re fun and easy to get along with, down to earth, someone people want to be friends with, but who can still be counted on to do the right thing in a difficult situation. You’re capable of being a real leader.”

Ron took a shaky breath. “You sure do expect a lot from me.”

“It’s about time someone started expecting what you’re actually capable of, don’t you think?”


	49. Sink or Swim

Ginny ran down the steps from the girl’s dormitory as quickly as she could. The last thing she needed was to be late to her first day of Defense-Basic Training. Especially since she was expected to “set an example,” or whatever bollocks it was being called these days. Adrianna’s expectations were not a fun burden to have.

She would probably be outside already, if it weren’t for the Twittering Twins hogging the loo all morning, primping themselves as if they were going to a ball instead of a lesson that’s main goal was to train them for war. Ella and Emma seemed to think the only purpose of their shorts was to show off a little leg. They were going to faint when they found out they were expected to sweat.

The portrait hole opened and Ginny leapt out into the hall. She’d barely cleared the threshold when a hand closed around her arm.

She didn’t stop to think. She just reacted. Her heart rate accelerating dangerously, Ginny quickly, instinctively, twisted her body, loosening her attackers hold as she spun, kicking out. Her attacker grunted, but she didn’t pause. Grabbing her wand, she yelled, “ _Stup_ —Dean?”

“Bloody hell, Ginny,” Dean gasped, from his undignified heap on the ground, clutching his thigh and gaping up at her in disbelief. “What has that witch been teaching you?”

Ginny frowned, adrenaline still pounding in her veins. “What to do if a strange wizard jumps out of the shadows, that’s what. Blimey, Dean, what the hell do you think you’re doing? I could have really hurt you! My Bat Bogy Hex is nothing compared to what I learned this summer.”

“No kidding,” Dean muttered as he awkwardly unfurled himself from the floor, wincing a bit as he put weight on his right leg.

Ginny began to feel guilty as soon as her heart rate returned to normal. Especially so when her boyfriend put his hands out in a position of surrender. Did he think she was still going to attack him? Oh, she still had her wand out. She lowered it.

“Sorry, Ginny. I just … I was just waiting for you and you didn’t notice me so …” He looked at her with wide pleading eyes and just a hint of a pout on his handsome face. “I thought I could catch you before lessons. You’ve been so busy that we haven’t had any time together.”

Great. Now Ginny felt like a complete bitch. What a way to start off a _fantastic_ day. She didn’t even know how to respond. A proper girlfriend would be flattered and thrilled to have her boyfriend go to such lengths to spend time with her. But Ginny wasn’t, _so_ when in doubt, act stupid. “Dean, we’ve spent the entire week together.”

The pout intensified and he approached her with a seductive expression, looking a bit a like a panther with his bedroom eyes. Not that Ginny knew what bedroom eyes looked like, especially on Dean. But his movements were smooth and sensual as his large hand slid around her waist and he murmured huskily, “Not alone, we haven’t.”

Annoyance probably wasn’t the appropriate response, so Ginny pushed it aside and forced a smile. Dean caressed her back with long, firm strokes. He had talented hands. Maybe a teasing tone was the way to go. “So, you thought a good time to grab some alone time would be during Professor Potter’s first Basic Training lesson?”

Dean gave her a guilty smile, admitting softly, “I’ve been waiting out here for a while.”

Oh bollocks. Now she _really_ felt like shite. Dean was such a good boyfriend, getting up at the crack of dawn to see her. She was an ungrateful cow. “Oh, Dean. I’m sorry I’ve been so busy, but Ron—”

“I understand. I do,” Dean immediately reassured, pulling Ginny closer so she was flush with his body. “But it’s just that lessons are starting now and you have this mad schedule. I hate to think what will happen when Quidditch begins. It’s getting harder and harder to find time with you. I didn’t mean to make you late. I just thought maybe we could make a date for tonight.”

Ginny swallowed the lump in her throat. If he kept this up she might drown in her own self-loathing. “I’m sorry, Dean. Adrianna’s making Harry, Ron, Hermione, and me take special lessons in the evenings. People aren’t supposed to know, but the first one’s tonight.”

Dean’s face fell. Poor boy looked as though his last hope had been trampled on. Not to mention a bit shocked to hear that she had _more_ lessons. It was absurd, what Adrianna expected of them. But she said she wanted to teach them things that the rest of students shouldn’t know and as exhausting as it would be Ginny wasn’t going to let an opportunity like that go.

Of course, the evening promised to be an awkward, tense, and potentially _explosive_ affair since Ron and Hermione still weren’t speaking and, well, neither were Ginny and Hermione. But Adrianna didn’t seem phased by any of that. Ginny, however, was _not_ looking forward to it and now she was going to feel guilty the entire time because of Dean.

“Why is she making you do all this extra shite,” Dean whined. “I can understand Harry, but why _you_?”

Wasn’t that just the question she’d been asking herself for months? Ginny sighed. “I dunno, Dean. It’s something about a vision she had or something. Adrianna’s convinced that I have to be ‘prepared.’ It’s an Empath thing.”

Dean frowned, his eyes finding the floor and his hands loosening around her waist. “You know a bloke is suppose to get to spend _more_ time with his girl after the summer holidays are over,” he tried to joke, but couldn’t accomplish the light teasing tone he was obviously aiming for. The poor bloke, this wasn’t fair to him. Not only did he have a girlfriend who was emotionally unavailable, but now she was physically unavailable as well.

Then it hit her. Ginny was being presented with an opportunity. And when one was presented with opportunity such as this, one had to snatch it up before it disappeared forever. Right? Maybe this was a sign.

Gathering her courage, Ginny drew herself up. “You’re right, Dean. I’m a wretched girlfriend. You deserve someone” – who doesn’t fancy someone else – “who actually has time for you. If you wanted to …”

Ginny’s breath caught. Oh god, did she want to do this? If Dean agreed she’d have freedom but she’d also be alone. Ginny hated being alone. But she’d be free to explore this _thing_ between her and Harry. But, god, then she’d have to _face_ this thing between her and Harry. Oh god. Oh god. What should she do? Damn it! It was too late to back down now.

She forced herself to finish her sentence. “If you wanted to take a break, I’d understand. You know, see other people.”

Ginny had thought Dean looked miserable before, but she obviously hadn’t known what miserable looked like, because as soon as the words left her mouth, his hands dropped from her waist and he stepped back, looking as though he’d just watched someone _Crucio_ his best friend. Shite. “Do … do you … are you saying you want to break up?” he sputtered, his words almost a whimper.

She panicked. There was no other way to describe it. Before Ginny could even think about what she was doing she protested, bursting out, “No!” Wait, did she want to protest? She was so confused. “No … I … _I_ don’t want to. I just … if _you_ wanted to break up, I’d understand.”

But, obviously, _he_ didn’t want to. Dean still had that wounded look in his eyes and Ginny was feeling that horrible suffocating feeling again. She wanted to flee, but how was she supposed to break his heart when she wasn’t even certain that she wanted to end it? “I mean, since I’m so busy,” Ginny added quietly, pathetically. This wasn’t going well.

Dean sighed, then, seeming to relax. Stepping closer to her, he shook his head sadly, saying, “I’ve been putting too much pressure on you.”

Ginny blinked. Where had that come form? “What? No, you—”

“I’ve been a bad boyfriend. You don’t need me pressuring you for your time. You must feel pulled at every end. Between O.W.L.s and preparing for the war and _Potter_ demanding all your time—”

“ _What_!” Ginny’s heart froze in her chest. Was Dean jealous after all? Did he suspect that something had happened between Ginny and Harry this summer? “No. No, Harry’s not demanding—”

“Not Harry. Professor Potter and her bloody lessons.”

“Oh.”

Well, that overreaction wasn’t at all revealing, now was it? Well done, Ginny. Luckily for her (or unluckily, depending on how one looked at it) Dean seemed to be thicker than Ron. He wrapped his arms around her again. Oh no, not that suffocating feeling again.

“I’ll be more supportive,” Dean vowed. “From now on. I promise.” Then he leaned in and pressed a brief kiss against her lips. Ginny forced a smile and he kissed her again, not pulling back this time.

Well, that hadn’t gone at all as planned. Not that Ginny had _planned_ anything, but it would have been an easy way out of the situation. So, naturally, it couldn’t work. Nothing in _her_ life was easy. And now it was going to be even more difficult to get out of this relationship. Why did Dean have to be so bloody perfect all the time?

Ginny realized that he was still kissing her. Dean was a rather skilled kisser. Better than Harry. Of course, when Harry kissed her, Ginny forgot about everything but Harry. Her mind didn’t go wandering—damn it, could she just _once_ kiss her bloody boyfriend with thinking about Harry?

She pulled herself out of Dean’s arms, quickly saying, “I’m late.”

Dean nodded and Ginny ran off down the hall, hearing him call behind her, “Meet me for lunch?”

“Ok,” Ginny yelled back. She really _was_ horribly, disgustingly late. This was just wonderful. Adrianna was going to slaughter her.

“And maybe we can find some time tomorrow evening.”

Damn it. What happen to less pressure? “Ok. Tomorrow. Hopefully.” Then Ginny skidded around the corner and was finally out of Dean’s sight.

When she got to the field behind the castle it was filled with students, but the scene was still rather chaotic. She couldn’t be _too_ late. If Adrianna had started the lesson, there would be more order than this. Ginny didn’t escape reprimands, though, even if they weren’t from her professor.

“Where have you been?” Colin demanded, walking toward her rapidly, Ermengarde lumbering not too far behind.

Ginny was still struggling to catch her breath from her mad jaunt through the castle, but managed to mutter irritably, “Boyfriend trouble.”

“Trouble? Oh, I wouldn’t have thought Dean to be very troublesome. I do hope he’s not being mean. Perhaps he’s just being mischievous.” Luna’s lilting tones drifted to them as she appeared out of nowhere in a tracksuit that on closer inspection was actually brightly colored pajamas. “Love _does_ do strange things to people. I do wonder if it’s a rather odd sort of disease.”

Ermengarde shrank back at Luna’s bizarre comments. Ginny would have imagined the two girls would be friends, both being outcasts of a sort. But Luna’s _eccentricities_ terrified poor Ermengarde. As much as Ginny hated to agree with the Twittering Twins, it really was amazing that she wasn’t placed in Hufflepuff with the rest of her family.

Colin, on the other hand, was a Gryffindor through and through, especially when it came to witches. Crazy, domineering, timid, or just plain bitchy, none of it fazed Colin. Ginny supposed that was the advantage to being gayer than Christmas.

“Ginny doesn’t have that sort of boyfriend troubles, Luna, dear,” Colin drawled. “She has the variety where her boyfriend is positively perfect in everyway. Except, of course, that he isn’t quite emotionally and _physically_ scarred enough—”

“Shut it,” Ginny whispered furiously, smacking Colin on the back of the head and causing him to squeal like a girl.

Luna frowned in confusion. “That doesn’t sound like a problem to me.”

Colin sighed dramatically, “Nor I, Luna, nor I. But, alas, we’re not Ginny.”

Enough of this. Ginny grunted and interrupted Colin’s display by quickly demanding, “What did I miss?” To her surprise, Colin changed topics easily and again gave her a reproving look.

“You’re lucky. Professor Potter has been on a rampage, sending people back to put on tracksuits. Most of the houses turned up in the uniforms and robes.” Then Colin’s face brightened. “Though, you did miss a brief hand-to-hand combat demonstration between our dear professor and your extremely fit brother, who, by the way, is looking _fantastic_. We were left in a pile of drool, witch and poof alike, and I’m sure several are contemplating changing teams—”

“Colin!” Ermengarde hissed. “You need to _you know_.”

“Right.” He looked strangely guilty as his closed hand over Ginny’s arm. “Luna, we ...” But whatever Colin was going to say, it was too late. Luna had already wandered away to god knows where. “Ok, then,” Colin muttered, shaking his head. He yanked Ginny aside, whispering furiously, “Ginny, you have to do something about Emma and Ella. They’ve been plotting something against Hermione all morning.”

“Something mean,” Ermengarde added. “ _Really_ mean.”

Ginny’s eyes widened, her stomach clenching in anger and trepidation. Then she remembered she wasn’t friends with Hermione at the moment. “So? What do you want me to do about it?” she whispered petulantly, crossing her arms tightly.

Colin’s jaw clenched, giving Ginny a look that made her feel lower than a slug. “I _expect_ you to talk some sense into your cow roommates! They listen to you, for whatever reason.”

Ginny’s gaze fixed on the grass, her leg bouncing with anxiety, torn between anger at Hermione and old feelings of loyalty. Not to mention the fact that confronting the Twittering Twins was bloody suicide.

Luckily for Ginny, Adrianna selected that moment to call the class to order. Colin grunted in frustration and hissed one last warning in Ginny’s ear as the crowd quieted. “If you don’t do something, I’m going to be getting help from Ron and Harry.”

Ginny’s eyes snapped back to his. Great. She couldn’t allow Colin to involve Ron in this mess, not in his current state of mind. Besides, Harry and Ron wouldn’t have a clue how to handle this. They had no idea how girls fought their battles. Ella and Emma would flatten them.

Ginny was barely paying attention to what was going on around her until a rather overwhelmed and distressed Ravenclaw call out, “But wizards don’t fight with their hands. They fight with _magic_.”

Adrianna rolled her eyes, casting a long-suffering glance at Ron who stood next her, fighting a smile. Finally their professor yelled, “Does anyone here know what to do when faced with Avada Kedavra?”

There was a collective gasp, followed by a long silence. Then Miles Harper, the snotty Slytherin perfect Colin had Stupefied, called out superiorly, “You can’t do _anything_. It’s not blockable.”

Once again, Adrianna rolled her eyes. “Yes. So, what are you going to _do_?” There was more silence, the whole lot of fourth- and fifth-years looking rather lost and scared. If this was their army, Voldemort had already won. “Come on now, are you going to just stand there and let them kill you?”

“What else can we do?” a rather brave fourth-year asked.

Scowling, Adrianna’s eyes scanned the crowd and, to Ginny’s horror, fell on her. “Ginny,” she yelled. “What would _you_ do if someone pointed Avada Kedavra at you?”

A hundred set of eyes flew to her and Ginny felt herself grow quite warm. For a moment she didn’t understand what Adrianna wanted her to say. There was no block— _oh_. “You get your arse out of the way,” Ginny called back and then winced as she realized she’d sworn in class.

Adrianna smiled, not seeming to care about her language, despite the smattering of giggles. Ron grinned broadly at his sister, as if they were sharing a secret. It really didn’t help Ginny’s blush in the least.

“That’s right,” their professor called loudly. “You get your skinny English _arse_ out of the way. Now, considering the state of most of your defense skills, you’re best chance of survival when faced with a Death Eater is to _run_. Which is what you’re all going to do now. Run. Follow Mr. Weasley around the edge of the grounds.”

Adrianna nodded toward her assistant. “And Ron, you better hold back and go slower than usual. I don’t want to have to take anyone to the hospital wing.” Ron laughed a bit, giving Adrianna a smile before setting off in a run. That was when Ginny realized that, unlike her, Ron looked rather comfortable. Confident even. It was awfully un-Ron of him. Hmmm.

“Ginny,” Colin hissed, gesturing his head toward the Twittering Twins who were quickly pushing their way through the crowd to run behind Ron. Bloody hell.

“Fine,” Ginny snapped back. She’d do something about them. Later. Then, before Colin could say another word, she sprinted away, easily out distancing him. She’d worry about everything later.

 

* * * * *

 

Ron stood on the lawn, at the god awful hour of seven-thirty in the morning, amazed at the sheer wealth of energy he had rushing through his veins. It was especially incredible considering how little sleep he’d had the night before.

At least he hadn’t been up with his usual emotionally draining nightmares/pornographic dreams. No _,_ last night Ron had stayed up _thinking_. And rather heavy thinking at that. Him, Ron Weasley, losing sleep for a good think. He wouldn’t have thought it possible. Hermione would be so proud. _If_ he could tell her.

But maybe he’d have a chance after all. It would be a great way to break the ice. Ron could just walk right up to her and say, “Hermione, I’ve been up all night thinking.” She’d probably be too stunned to remember that she wasn’t speaking to him. If he decided to talk to her, that was. To put his pride and his bollocks on the line on the off chance that he could patch things up with her.

No, he _had_ decided. It was one of the few things he was definite about. If nothing else, Ron was going to apologize for being such a git. Probably. _Probably_ , he’d apologize. It was pathetic. After spending the entire night pacing and staring out of the window, even Ron’s definites were _indefinite_.

But Hermione wasn’t the only thing Ron had to obsess over. Adrianna’s words haunted him. _“You need to decide who you want to be,”_ she’d said. _“If you are too lazy to do what it takes to become that person, then you really don’t deserve her.”_

What did he want? Who did he want to be? It shouldn’t be as difficult as it was to answer that question. Ron once thought was rather easy. He wanted to be an Auror. Or an international Quidditch star. Not that he ever thought he’d be either.

But that wasn’t what Adrianna meant. She meant what sort of _person_ Ron wanted to be and that wasn’t something he had bothered to contemplate at all. Maybe that was the problem.

So, what did he want? Him. _Ron_. Not what did his mother want from him. Not what Hermione wanted. Or what he thought she _should_ want. Not what he thought he was capable of. But what Ron wanted. Putting aside everything his brothers were and were not, everything Harry was and was not, he had to … god, it was difficult.

Yet somehow, Ron had come to several conclusions. He wanted to know things. Not everything like Hermione, or stupid shite like Percy. He wanted to know useful crap. Stuff that would keep his friends and family safe. And it wouldn’t hurt to learn a few tricks to get his chores and homework done faster. Make more time for the important stuff, yeah?

He wanted to know everything Adrianna, or anyone, could teach him about Defense. _Everything_. Ron wanted to be able to fight with his hands and his wand and his mind. He wanted to be fully capable of stopping bad things from hurting good people. Whether or not he ever became an Auror, which amazingly was an option again.

Ron didn’t need good marks for the sake of good marks. Though, they would be nice. He didn’t need to know which shrub cleared his complexion or which long-dead prat named which constellation. He didn’t need to know how to make a potion to make his hair thicker or cure the hiccups or clean dish in a thrice.

But if the stars could help him find his way home in a crisis or a certain petal was the antidote to a poison in Voldemort’s arsenal or a potion could make him invisible to Death Eaters, then _that_ Ron wanted to know.

He didn’t want to be a lazy wizard. Ron was going to be of age in _six_ months. He needed to _do_ something. Now, before it was too late.

Still, he didn’t want to bury his nose so far into a book that he couldn’t see what was going on around him. And unless Voldemort was planning on attacking Sunday, he wanted to spend Saturdays drinking butterbeer with his mates and _not_ studying or, heaven forbid, researching.

He never wanted to care about the thickness of cauldron bottoms. He never wanted to take himself too seriously. Ron wanted to the sort of bloke who was easy to be around, a bloke who could make someone laugh without fearing that they would end up as the butt of some sort of practical joke.

But he was comparing himself to his brothers again. Maybe it was impossible not to. And, maybe, that was all right. As long as Ron didn’t let it drag him down. Maybe it was even ok to say that he wanted to be brave enough to do the right thing and protect the people he loved, but that he never wanted to be so brave that it blinded him. The way it sometimes did with Harry.

Ron wanted to be strong. He wanted to be fast. He wanted to be confident. He wanted to be good at Quidditch. Though maybe Quidditch wasn’t as important as the rest, even if he wasn’t ready to admit that aloud just yet. Still, he never wanted to forget how to enjoy a good game, playing or watching.

Once he’d worked all this out, Ron found himself excitedly pacing the hall outside his dormitory at three am while his roommates snored on. Surely, if he could become these things, he would be good enough for Hermione. He could just picture himself as _that_ wizard, Hermione standing proudly by his side.

She would be his girlfriend and they would hold hands in the hallway and share food at lunch. Hermione would tell him to finish his vegetables and he’d make sure she never skipped a meal. Ron would be the one to make her smile, relax when she was wound so tight he thought she might snap. And she would always be there with soft hands, warm lips, and clear logic whenever he needed her. He wouldn’t have to worry about other blokes because, well, she wouldn’t need anyone else.

But just because Ron knew who he wanted to be, didn’t mean it was something he’d be able to achieve. That thought alone was enough burst his happy little bubble. He could try. Of course, he’d try. But would trying be enough? Would it be good enough for Hermione?

She may have fancied him before, but what if she changed her mind? Maybe Hermione finally had enough of Ron and his insensitive arsehole ways. What if she didn’t want to forgive him for what he’d said? He’d treated her so badly. He’d _always_ treated her badly. As long as he’d known her. He called her names, mocked the things she cared about, put her down. He never gave her the attention and respect she deserved.

If Ron wasn’t the sort of bloke who treated his girl right, then none of the rest meant anything, did it? He needed to stop saying the things he said to her. Rowing was one thing. They’d probably always row. His parents rowed. But his dad never treated his mum with disrespect. Never said anything like the bollocks Ron had said to Hermione over the years. He had to stop. He was _going_ to stop. Right now.

But what if he couldn’t? What if Ron wasn’t mature enough? If he wasn’t clever enough or brave enough? He _knew_ he wasn’t confident enough. And, bloody hell, he just didn’t know _how_.

So that was why, when Ron arrived on the lawn at the crack of dawn, he had an absurd amount of nervous energy. He knew what he wanted, he just didn’t have the first clue where to start. And his confidence that it would work, that was shite.

But he _was_ the first one outside. Before Adrianna even, like a good responsible T.A., the sort of bloke that could lead others, help them do the right thing. Or a reasonably close approximation at least. Responsible was on Ron’s list of the many things he needed to work on, so he figured it was a good start.

When the fourth- and fifth-years started to arrive, Ron wasn’t so sure. But Adrianna distracted him from his self-doubt surprisingly easily when she turned red and asked him “why the hell” two-thirds of the students were showing up in full uniforms and robes. Ron had to explain that most of the students probably didn’t even know what a tracksuit was. Outside of Quidditch, there wasn’t a whole lot of physical activity in wizarding Britain.

Adrianna rolled her eyes and tapped her foot, which was amusing, even cute, when one wasn’t on the receiving end of her irritation. Ron could see what Charlie saw in her, but, then again, Ron was partial to bossy witches with short tempers.

The class started with a lengthy lecture on proper attire, where Adrianna threatened that those dressed “improperly” would have exactly fifteen minutes to change, or they would be missing breakfast. Then, of course, the class complained that they didn’t have “proper attire.” Adrianna was about ready to snap at that point. “Then transfigure something. Wear your jeans. Wear your pajamas. Wear something, anything you can _move_ in.”

Then the students wanted to know what she meant by “move” and Ron had to cover his mouth to keep from laughing out loud. He should have known better then to mess with karma. Next thing he knew, Adrianna had decided the best way to settle this was to give a demonstration of the techniques they would be covering in class. And, naturally, she turned to Ron.

He hadn’t really thought that this job would be as simple as standing there and acting as Adrianna’s expert on wizarding Britain. But he hadn’t realized that he would have to perform in front of a hundred students, all of whom he saw on a daily basis. And Ron had no way out. All he could do was hope that she wasn’t going to _demonstrate_ by pummeling him publicly.

She didn’t. Actually, Adrianna expected Ron to do pretty much all of the demonstrating, which may just have been worse. Thankfully, it started off easy enough. A few punches and kicks to bags that Adrianna charmed to float as targets. Ron found it was easier to do physical stuff like this when he was nervous than it was to do magic. Or maybe it was just that he knew all of the people watching were so clueless about this stuff that it was pretty hard to look bad.

Soon, Ron just lost himself in the sport of it. They moved on quickly to some more complicated moves, a few throws and such. All in all, he was feeling rather good. He’d always enjoyed working with his body. When he finished it was to whooping and hollering and the loud roar of applause and _that_ felt brilliant.

As he caught his breath, Ron noticed that there were quite a few blokes looking at him with admiration and envy. Almost as if they wanted to be him. Him. And the girls … Ron had to glance around to see if Harry or someone else was behind him. Someone handsome or cool or something. They couldn’t be looking at _him_ like that.

But it seemed as though they were. There were girls all over the lawn, giggling with their friends and casting Ron flirtatious, _lustful_ looks. Those Hufflepuff girls from the platform (looked like they weren’t sixth-years after all), Ginny’s two dim, but beautiful, roommates … blimey, beautiful girls staring at him.

Though, he’d far prefer if it were Hermione looking at him that way. But now that Ron thought about it, she _had_ looked at him like that. He’d just been too thick to notice. Only the way Hermione looked at him was softer, more caring, more … shite, he was such a fool.

“Fifteen minutes, people,” Adrianna yelled. “The clock is ticking.” There was a mass exodus as students scrambled back into the castle.

Having fewer people on the lawn made it more obvious who was staring and Ron shifted uncomfortably. He was grateful when Adrianna sidled up next to him, leaning over, and whispering conspiratorially, “So, how long before these wimps learn _any_ of what you just showed them?”

Blushing, Ron felt a surge of pride. “Um … never?”

“That’s what I was afraid of.” Adrianna sighed dramatically and shook her head. Ron laughed and eventually she cracked, chuckling with him.

“Actually,” Ron said more seriously, “I bet my house has most of it by Christmas.”

Adrianna’s eyebrows rose in a challenging, interested sort of way. “I wonder what the kids in the other houses would say. Maybe we should make it a competition. Do you think that would motivate the lazy lumps?”

Ron chuckled again. “It may be the _only_ thing that might motivate the Slytherins, although it could get a bit rowdy and hardly leads to inter-house cooperation.”

“Hmm. And considering what I’ve been reading from some of the Slytherins, I don’t know how much I _want_ to motivate them. We’ll have to think it over.”

We? She meant that as in the royal “we,” right? Because otherwise one might infer that Ron had actual input into how the class was run. Which was absurd. But, standing there next to Adrianna, Ron felt strangely important. Maybe being a T.A. wouldn’t be so bad after all. It was already better than being a prefect.

When the students started trickling back, they were huffing and puffing as if the task of running to their dorms and back was more exercise than they’d had all year. One particularly whinny pansy of a Ravenclaw (who didn’t look as though he had run further than from the sofa to the dinner table in his entire life) had the nerve to say, “But wizards don’t fight with their hands, they fight with magic.”

Adrianna’s answer was rather amusing. Ron enjoyed watching the drama unfold, especially when his sister showed up her entire year. It was _less_ entertaining when Adrianna yelled, “Which is what you’re all going to do now. _Run_. Follow Mr. Weasley around the edge of the grounds. And Ron, you better hold back and run slower than usual. I don’t want to take anyone to the hospital wing.”

Now, while Ron enjoyed the implication that he was the best runner there, it wasn’t likely to be true. Up until this summer, Quidditch was his main sport as well. Flying wasn’t running and jogging around the ballroom at Grimmauld Place was hardy the perimeter of the Hogwarts grounds.

But he soon realized that Adrianna hadn’t told him to keep in slow to stroke his pride. “Slow _down_ , Ron,” Colin whined, mere minutes later.

Ron turned, jogging place, to find that Colin was actually keeping up relatively well compared to most, who were panting and stumbling along behind him. Ron jogged back next to Colin, calling out, “Sorry. But you can do better than this, mates. Let’s go.”

They gave him incredulous looks, groaning loudly. But, amazingly, a good portion of them picked up the pace and ran ahead. One of Ginny’s roommates, Emily or something, stumbled to a stop, muttering, “Is he serious?”

Ron ran up next to her, calling, “’Fraid so, girls. Try to keep moving. Even if you have to walk the rest of the way.”

The girl blushed and smiled, blinking so rapidly that Ron thought an insect must have flown into her eye. “Ok, _Ron_ ,” her companion murmured (were they both named Emily?) and the two ran ahead with new energy.

Whoa! _That_ was cool! Ron continued jogging through the group, calling out words of encouragement, the way he’d seen Harry do with the D.A. or Angelina at Quidditch practice. And it worked! They listened to him!

It was the most fantastic high. Ron was still flying through his lightning fast shower and mad dash to the Great Hall. He squeezed in next to Harry, leaning over the table and filling his plate before he even bothered to sit down. For the first time in days, Ron was famished.

Shoveling eggs into his mouth, Ron finally sat and, by chance, glanced up and caught Hermione staring at him from across the table. He started to smile at her. _Then_ he remembered that they weren’t doing that. Smiling at each other. Talking to each other. Doing anything that might, even inadvertently, acknowledge each other’s presence.

So, of course, Hermione tore her eyes away and, before Ron had a chance to think, grabbed her books, muttered, “See you in Transfiguration, Harry,” and was gone.

 _Damn it_. So much for Ron’s fabulous mood. Jogging and throwing a few punches were one thing, but winning Hermione, after everything that had passed between them, that was quite another.

Harry sighed as he watched Hermione leave the Hall. Sounding defeated, like a man who knew he was going to be denied but couldn’t help but make one last death-bed plea, Harry asked, “Are you _certain_ you won’t talk to her?”

Ron swallowed another large bite of eggs. Keeping his eyes on his plate, he muttered, “Maybe.”

Harry’s eyes flew to Ron. “Really?”

A flutter of anxiety settled in Ron’s chest and he let out a breath. Then, grabbing an apple off the table (Hermione always said he needed to eat more fruit), he scooped up the rest of his eggs onto his toast and called, “Come on. We’re going to be late.” Ron pushed the hastily made sandwich into his mouth, effectively ending the conversation, as he got up and hurried out of the Hall, leaving Harry to rush to keep up.

Ron contemplated what it might take to get the relationship he really wanted with Hermione all the way to Transfiguration and, to be honest, through a good part of the lesson. Which really wasn’t the best way to turn over a new leaf, but, come on, the lesson was complete bollocks.

Professor McGonagall was repeating that first transfiguration she ever did for them, way back when they were first years. She turned her desk into a pig, explaining that after years of wasting their time turning perfectly good animals into inanimate objects they were finally going to turn perfectly good inanimate objects into animals. And while it was clearly more complicated, Ron had trouble seeing it as anything but pointless.

Why would anyone want to turn a desk into a pig? What were they going to do with a pig? Ron reckoned it might be useful if one were really, _really_ hungry. But still, one could make about a million sandwiches from that desk. And the pig would have to be slaughtered, which would be extremely messy, not to mention revolting. What a complete waste of time.

Then McGonagall handed everyone a goblet that they were to turn into a rat. Very original. Apparently, they weren’t ready for desks yet and the old bird was running out of ideas. No wonder Ron had never cared much about marks. This was complete rubbish. He raised his wand with a bored sigh and leaned his head onto his hand. Why would he want to make a rat? Rats were useless. No one knew _that_ better than Ron.

Now, a nice strong owl, _that_ would be a useful transfiguration. If one was trapped somewhere and needed to call for help, then it would be wicked useful for—

“Bloody hell, Ron!” Harry yelped.

It was followed closely by two loud, almost indistinguishable, screeches, one from McGonagall as she yelled, “Mr. Weasley!” And one from a rather large, chocolate-brown owl, stretching its newly formed wings and sending parchment fluttering from their desk as it lifted itself up and perched on Ron’s shoulder. Oops.

“What is the meaning of this, Mr. Weasley!” McGonagall appeared in front of him, her hands on her hips, a horror-struck look on her face.

Ron panicked. “Sorry. Sorry,” he sputtered. “I was just thinking about owls and I …” Her eyes widened. Shite, did she know he thought her lesson rubbish? She might not be an Empath but McGonagall was bloody perceptive about these things. This was really not good. “Sorry. We were doing rats, right?” Ron quickly grabbed Harry’s goblet and redid the spell, hoping to appease his Head of House by quickly creating a plump white rat.

McGonagall immediately snatched the rat up, inspecting it with wide, penetrating eyes. “My word, Mr. Weasley.” Oh god. He was in _real_ trouble now. “Why this is some of the best transfiguration I’ve seen in all my years as a teacher,” she gasped, looking completely awed. Then her eyes narrowed and her brow furrowed. Ron waited for the axe to fall. “ _Far_ better than you’ve ever done before, I’d say.” The last was an accusation.

Ron pushed back in his seat, trying to put as much distance between him and his irate professor as possible. The bloody bird on his shoulder refused to move. It just kept hooting away, reminding McGonagall of all his sins. Ron opened and closed his mouth uselessly, unable to think of a thing to say. Well, nothing that wouldn’t just make her angrier.

Finally, Harry, the prat, piped in, “Ron’s been doing brilliant transfigurations all summer, Professor.” Bloody hell, what was he doing? Ron flashed Harry a warning look, but it went completely ignored as his smiling best mate prattled on, “He transfigured a jacket into a train wall on the way to school.” Ron flushed, shrinking further into his seat.

McGonagall studied him carefully, her lips pursed. “I _had_ heard about that. You used transfiguration to close the hole, then? How big was it?” She sounded shocked. And why shouldn’t she? Ron had never been good at Transfiguration, and when he sat next to Hermione that fact was abundantly clear.

“It was at least a meter in each direction. Maybe larger,” Harry responded dramatically, holding his hands out widely. Bastard.

“My word! Is that _true_ , Mr. Weasley?”

“Uh … yeah.” Ron couldn’t meet her eyes.

“And how did this _improvement_ come about?”

Great. The question Ron was dreading. “I … er …”

But, again, Harry _rescued_ him. “My cousin just found the proper motivation. She taught him how to transfigure food,” he announced cheekily and the other Gryffindors roared with laughter.

Ha ha. Yeah, it was bloody hilarious. Ron glared at Harry. Didn’t he realize that McGonagall was going to find that insulting? She’d be hacked off at both of them. Ron was going to pummel him for this.

Fortunately, the look on McGonagall’s face was merely one of disbelief. “ _You_ can transfigure food?”

Well, this was just lovely. Yes, stupid Ron Weasley, why would anyone ever think he could do anything right? He’d almost prefer it if McGonagall were insulted.

“Out of _what_?” his professor demanded.

“Anything really,” Harry answered with a confident shrug, and while Ron really wished his best mate would let him talk for himself, at least _someone_ believed he was capable.

McGonagall looked as though she had never heard anything so preposterous in her life. Then Ernie Macmillan called out, “No way. That’s seventh year N.E.W.T., that is.”

“That’s enough, Mr. Macmillan,” Professor McGonagall reprimanded. Then leaning down to Ron, she whispered, “Is it edible?”

Ron frowned. Now he was offended. He wasn’t that pathetic. Surely, the owl he made just now was harder than transfiguring a bit of lunch. That was easy, really. From behind him he heard Seamus whisper to Dean, “Yeah, dirt is edible, but I wouldn’t want to.” The two sniggered.

Well, that was the last straw. “Can I have a bit of parchment, Harry?” Ron asked tersely and, grinning, his best mate handed it over. Ron crumpled the paper up angrily. “ _Cambi Lalimento_!”

In his extreme irritation, Ron tried his most complicated food transfiguration yet. His pride got the better of him. Now all there was left to do was hold his breath and pray as the piece of parchment turned into a large chocolate cake. Thank god, it seemed to look the part at least. The question was how would it taste?

Ron refused to show his misgivings. He held his head high as he magically cut the cake and levitated it onto a blank piece of parchment, presenting it to McGonagall. Please, let it be edible. _Please_.

Harry was beaming like an idiot, but Ron was busy regretting those hastily eaten eggs. The class was silent and more alert than they’d been all lesson as McGonagall took a delicate bite. Her eyes widened and she exclaimed, “My word.” Then she gave Ron a small, approving nod and all the breath left his body.

Harry clapped him on the back and Ron smiled a bit dizzily. Then, for the second time that day, he caught Hermione staring at him from across the room. Her ankles were delicately crossed and her lip caught between her teeth. She was looking at him with a proud, soft, almost longing sort of expression. As soon as she caught Ron looking back, she stiffened and her eyes quickly found her desk.

That was when Ron knew. There was only one decision he could make.

Not even McGonagall’s warnings that she would be expecting a lot from him this year could bring Ron down this time. Their professor agreed to keep his new owl to the end of the day (seemed a waste to turn it back into a worthless goblet) and Ron rushed to the Defense classroom. He was helping Adrianna with the third-years next.

Ron’s thoughts raced as he sprinted through the halls. He could do this. He really could. That time, when the Order put him in charge of organizing things during the attacks, that wasn’t a fluke. Adrianna didn’t have him protect the road at Hogwarts out of pity. And Hermione, Hermione was brilliant and she fancied him, not Krum, not one of Ron’s too-good-to-be-true brothers. Him. _Ron_.

Jogging into the Defense Against Dark Arts Classroom, he heard someone call out, “Hi, Mr. Ron.”

Ron looked back and saw a group of young Gryffindors smiling at him as though he was some sort of Quidditch god or something. He smiled back. Mr. Ron, eh? Blimey. He took the steps to the office two at a time, finding Adrianna flipping through parchment. “Oh good, Ron. I thought we’d—”

“’Drana, I want to,” Ron burst out with as soon as he stumbled though the door. Adrianna’s eyebrows rose and she stared at him questioningly. “I want to be that wizard. The one who lives up to expectations.”

A slow smile crept across Adrianna’s face. “I think that’s a wise choice.” Then, smile firmly in place, she looked back down and started piling parchment into her arms, handing some to Ron.

“Adrianna?”

“Hmm?”

“Help.”

 

* * * * * *

 

It was raining. Pouring, actually. It had been nice that morning. Sunny. But by lunchtime, the skies had opened up and now it was a deluge. That was all right. It suited Hermione’s mood, even if it was rather inconvenient, since the grounds provided an infinite number of places to hide on one’s lunch hour.

Under no circumstances was Hermione going to the Great Hall for lunch today. Not after Ron caught her staring like a lovesick fool, not once, but twice. But he’d looked so fit and handsome after his first morning as a Teacher’s Assistant. How could she not stare? And this afternoon in Transfiguration … he was _amazing_.

Ron didn’t need Hermione anymore. He was clearly happy. Doing better than he’d ever done. Maybe all she had ever done was hold him back.

And while Hermione tried not to listen, she knew she wasn’t the only one staring. Ron was quite the topic among the female population of Hogwarts. Not just because of their now infamous row in the common room, either. No, there were witches all over the school setting their sights on _her_ Ron and there was nothing she could do about it. He had moved on. It was only Hermione who sank into a maudlin melancholy worthy of Lord Byron himself.

Hermione tried spending the lunch hour alone in the library, as she usually did, but found herself staring off, the book in front of him forgotten, too depressed to even read. Next thing she knew, she was sitting cross-legged on a stone bench in the open corridor that overlooked the courtyard, watching the rain and waiting for lunch to end.

Then she heard a voice ring out. “There she is.” Hermione groaned. Damn it. Lavender.

Hermione closed her eyes and willed herself to disappear. Maybe Hermione wasn’t the “she” Lavender was talking about. Maybe her roommates would pass her right by and let her alone to wallow in her misery. She took a deep breath, taking in the calming scent of late summer rain, and leaned her head against the stone wall. Maybe, if Hermione pretended they weren’t there, they’d be offended enough to just leave.

“We’ve been looking for you _everywhere_ ,” Parvati announced, her voice now distressingly close. “We’ve combed the library. Twice.”

Hermione never was going to get a break, was she? Groaning in defeat, she gave up the pretense and opened her eyes just in time to see her two roommates flop onto the bench on either side of her. She couldn’t even manage a smile in greeting. Perhaps a sharp, “Go away!” would be easier. But that wouldn’t be fair. Lavender and Parvati were only trying to help. In their misguided, rather annoying way.

Parvati frowned at Hermione disapprovingly. “We noticed that you missed _another_ meal.”

Hermione shrugged, feigning disinterest. It wasn’t all that difficult. Maybe that was because it wasn’t all that feigned. “Not hungry,” she muttered. But then her body protested, her stomach growling loudly, making a liar of her. Great.

“Hmm,” Lavender hummed. “I suppose that means you don’t want this then.” From her bag, she produced a simply beautiful sandwich and waved it in front of Hermione. “Shame, that. Nice _lean_ turkey, just the way you like it. Juicy tomatoes. _Whole grain_ bread.”

Hermione felt a rush of emotion and, suddenly, it wasn’t difficult to smile at Lavender at all. “Thanks,” Hermione murmured and Lavender smiled in return, handing over the sandwich as Parvati presented her with a bottle of Pur-Witch water.

As annoying, flighty, and incredibly pushy as her roommates were, they could also be quite good friends when they wanted to be. Hermione really should treat them better. Wonderful, now she was going to start crying again.

She had taken exactly two bites of her sandwich before they started up again. “Now, we’ve been over the _plan_ more than once, Hermione,” Parvati began, “and no where does it mention you sitting alone, moping in the corridor.”

And sometimes they were just plain pushy. Hermione shrugged, focusing on her sandwich. She was starving after leaving breakfast early. Skipping meals was starting to take its toll on her.

Lavender sighed, saying with the utmost gravity, “Hermione, you’re never going to convince Ron you’re over him if you walk around looking as though someone just killed your favorite Pigmy Puff. You need to pep up. Think of the _plan_.”

Hermione grunted, mumbling into her sandwich, “It’s not _my_ plan.”

“What was that, now?” Lavender prompted and for a minute Hermione considered pretending she hadn’t said anything at all.

But they weren’t likely to let her alone any time soon, so Hermione swallowed and cleared her throat, finally saying clearly, “I said, I don’t want to make Ron think I’m over him. I want to _get_ over him and, right now, that involves avoiding him.”

Lavender and Parvati exchanged looks, frowning at each from across Hermione’s lap. Hermione could just see their minds working. It was frightening, actually.

Parvati gave Hermione an appraising look, before announcing, “This doesn’t look like ‘getting over’ to me. This looks like giving up.”

Hermione’s eyes flashed, but she refused to take the bait. They were just trying to get a rise from her.

“Hermione!” Lavender whined. “For god’s sake, girl, this is _not_ the time to give up. As much as I hate to admit it, that boy’s been giving you longing looks all day long.”

For a solid minute, Hermione held Lavender’s gaze. Then, very deliberately, she stated, “No, he hasn’t,” and took a bite of her sandwich.

She appreciated what her roommates were trying to do, really she did, but if this wasn’t the time to give up, then when was? After Ron started dating that little Hufflepuff tart who kept throwing herself at him? Once he humiliated her in front of the whole school and not _just_ Gryffindor? How much more evidence did she need that he didn’t want her?

Lavender squealed with disbelief. “Then what do you call what Ron was doing at breakfast and in Transf—?”

“Shh, Lav,” Parvati abruptly broke in, her tones hushed as she leaned closer to Hermione and Lavender. “Emma Drokhurst and Ella Bancroft are right behind you.”

As much as she wished it they didn’t, Hermione’s eyes automatically followed Lavender’s over to the two fifth-year girls standing several yards away, bending close to each other as they whispered furiously. Every once and a while, they would glance coyly Hermione’s way. Oh god. What was _that_ about?

Lavender leaned over Hermione, whispering to her best friend, “Is there something going on that I should know about? I mean, other than Emma and Ella’s usual bitchiness.”

“You haven’t heard?”

“No! Tell me, Parvati!”

Horrified at being stuck in the middle of a drama being played out by four of the most gossip-hungry girls in the school and through a mounting sense of dread, Hermione caught sight of Ginny hurrying over to her roommates and quickly averted her eyes.

Hermione was still smarting from Ginny’s complete and total abandonment. Ginny had easily been Hermione’s best girlfriend and if one thing could make her estrangement from Ron _more_ painful, it was the way Ginny had been treating her these last several days.

“Well, all right then, but Hermione’s not going to like it. Though, I suppose she should know what they’re saying about her.”

Hermione’s attention snapped back to Parvati. Now what? Her stomach was sinking and Hermione really didn’t think she could handle one more blow, but she took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. Why should she care what Emma Drokhurst and Ella Bancroft said about her? It didn’t matter. _They_ didn’t matter.

Hermione forced herself to shrug dismissively. “I’ve dealt with vicious rumors before. I can handle it.”

“Not like this, you haven’t. Hermione, they’re saying you and Ron dated this summer—”

“So?” Honestly, if that was the worst of it. “It’s not true, but hardly anything to—”

“That’s not the bad part,” Parvati hastily interrupted, keeping her voice low and glancing anxiously at Lavender. “They’re saying that while you were dating him you … that you were also shagging all sorts of Muggle boys and that’s why _poor_ Ron called you a whore.”

“Bitches,” Lavender gasped. But Hermione just pressed her lips together tightly. She would not cry. She would not cry.

“And they’re saying you were shagging those Muggle boys because Ron wouldn’t shag you himself, because he …” Parvati swallowed, “because he didn’t want you that way. That he was only dating you out of pity.”

Hermione closed her eyes at that, quickly whipping her cheeks as betraying tears fell. Nothing quite hit home like the awful truth, even if it was surrounded by lies. Ron really didn’t want her in that way. Had he been Practicing with her out of pity?

“ _Oh_!” Lavender screeched furiously. “This is all Emma, I’m sure. Her and her _filthy_ imagination. The fucking cow. She’s the only whore around here. She probably can’t imagine anyone being any other way. I’m going to—”

“Lav,” Parvati called quietly, grabbing her arm before she could charge the fifth-year. “Don’t make a scene.”

Parvati leaned, in front of Hermione, which at least blocked her so those horrible girls couldn’t see her crying. Grateful, Hermione cleared her throat and said as bravely as she could, “It’s not a big deal. It’s such ridiculous story, who’d believe it anyway?”

Hermione wished she could believe what she was saying. Maybe she could, if it weren’t for the fact that Ginny was now whispering feverishly with the other two. She had to know what Ella and Emma were saying. Had Ginny been the one to in actuality start the rumors? Was this all a punishment for Hermione’s perceived sins against her brother?

But Parvati nodded decisively. “Exactly. We’ll take the high road, act as though it’s too ridiculous to acknowledge, and the rumor will just fade away.”

“ _Or_ we could wipe that smug look off Emma’s face,” Lavender declared passionately. “You remember what she did to me at the beginning of our fifth year …”

Lavender continued, listing Emma’s sins, which all made Hermione rather sick to her stomach, so she wrapped up what was left of her sandwich and stuck in her rucksack. When she looked up she caught Ginny looking her way. Ginny seemed almost frightened as Emma turned toward Hermione and smiled. It was an evil sort of smile. What was worse, the corridor was starting to fill with people. Lunch was almost over.

Emma turned back to Ella and said loudly, so everyone in the immediate area could hear, “Well, if you ask me, Ron is lucky he ditched the ugly cow when he did. If he were a less powerful wizard she would have enchanted him like she did all those poor Muggle boys.”

“That’s it!” Lavender declared, springing to her feet. “Parvati, don’t hold me back—”

“No, I’m with you.”

Then Hermione watched, in absolute horror, as her two roommates threw their robes on the bench, rolled up their sleeves, and stamped over to the fifth-years. Oh dear god. This was not happening.

Lavender stalked right up to Emma and screamed, “You jealous, lying _bitch_!”

Emma screeched in outrage. “How dare you!”

“That’s rich, coming from a cow like you,” Parvati spat, “after you _dared_ make up those disgusting stories for your own vile enjoyment.”

“Emma just knows she couldn’t get a bloke without lying, Parv.” Lavender smirked nastily and then … then … well, Hermione couldn’t hear what they said after that. It was a dull roar as the four girls screeched and bellowed. Then Ginny was screaming, as well, and it was just a cacophony of bitch, cow, slag, whore, and some other words that Hermione couldn’t bear to repeat.

Hermione knew at some point she stood, her rucksack dangling uselessly from her hand, yelling for them to stop. They didn’t even acknowledge her. Why would they? Hermione was just the subject of their row. Why should they pause when she tried to speak?

It was Lavender who struck first, pushing Emma Drokhurst squarely in the chest, making her stumble back into the courtyard and under the downpour. Emma slipped and fell with a splat in the mud. Then Ella launched herself at Lavender and all hell broke loose. Soon there was a crowd of students chanting, “Fight! Fight! Fight!”

Then Hermione looked over at Ginny, who was standing apart, staring at the girls, gaping. Horrible bitter hatred bubbled up from Hermione’s stomach and she finally found an outlet for her simmering rage, turning it on the girl she once called friend and screaming, “Are you happy now?” Ginny’s head snapped over, turning wide eyes on Hermione. “Have you and your brother punished me enough? Am I sufficiently humiliated yet?”

Then, with as much dignity as she could muster, Hermione turned on her heel and stalked away. But with the crowd that had gathered, her only clear escape route was through the courtyard. Ginny was approaching quickly, screaming her name and Hermione would be damned if she let herself be trapped here with _her_. So, Hermione squared her shoulders and stalked straight into the clearing. And the rain.

Instantly, Hermione was drenched. The water pounded her scalp, sloshing her hair into her eyes as her previously pristine and impeccably shinned shoes sunk into the mud. Thunder struck, making her shudder, but even with the dull roar of the rain she could still hear Ginny yelling, “Hermione! _Hermione_!”

Still, she was shocked when Ginny roughly grabbed her arm, forcing Hermione to turn and meet her head on. She would never have believed that Ginny would hate her enough to follow her into the deluge. Yet, apparently, she did

“Don’t you walk away from me like that!” Ginny shrieked. “Not after everything you did! You don’t have the _right_!”

“What _I’ve_ done?” Hermione yelled back, raising her voice over the steady pounding of the rain. All the anger, all the pain of the last few days was finally finding its outlet. “You’re the one plotting your vile and cruel revenge.”

Hermione gestured wildly over to where their combined roommates were rolling around in the mud. Thankfully, the rain was so loud she could barely hear herself, never mind the crowd, which meant that they couldn’t hear what she and Ginny were yelling about. It was oddly freeing.

Ginny ignored the circus on the lawn, instead, bellowing, her face as red as it was wet, “This has _nothing_ to do with them! This about what you said and _did_ to Ron! I trusted you! I helped you!”

Hermione couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Incredulous, she yelled until her throat hurt. “I trusted _you_! I told you things I never told anyone, not even Harry! You _know_ how I feel about Ron! Yet, you see two minutes of a row, never bothering to ask me my side and …” Hermione’s voice broke and she blinked her burning eyes. “You don’t know what happened.”

Pulling back, Ginny pushed the wet hair out of her eyes, blinking at Hermione as if in shock. Disgusted, Hermione turned away. She needed to get out of there.

But as soon as she went to leave, Ginny had the nerve to yell, “What I _know_ is that you can’t possibly love my brother and say what you said to him!”

That was it! Hermione flung herself back around. Throwing her rucksack into the mud, she stalked over to Ginny and roared, “Because people are never cruel to the people they love! Because they can never say the wrong thing! They can _never_ make a mistake! Well, you might be that bloody perfect, but I’m not.”

Ginny reeled, taken aback, whether by the ferocity of her attack or the rarely used language, Hermione didn’t know and didn’t care. She just kept screaming, knowing she’d be hoarse in the morning, “You want to know what happened, Ginny? Just like your precious little roommates said, Ron didn’t want to shag me! And then he called me a whore because I did—”

“He didn’t—”

“He _did_! Ron accused me of using him to learn how to properly shag the entire school! I took _your_ advice when you said there was nothing wrong with what we were doing and now he’s lost all respect for me. Now it’s over. I’m sorry if I snapped! I’m sorry if I was so hurt and miserable that in the heat of the moment I said something awful that I didn’t mean! I’m sorry that I’m not _perfect_!”

Ginny shook her head in denial, her face suddenly ashen. “No, Hermione,” she said more softly, barely audible over the rain, “you must have misunderstood—”

Hermione scoffed at the absurd placation. “And if that _slip_ means that I deserve the complete betrayal of our friendship, for you to spread vile lies—”

“No! Hermione, no!” Hermione tried to turn her back, but Ginny grabbed her arms, forcing her to face her. “I had _nothing_ to do with the shite Emma and Ella are up to. I swear. I was trying to stop them.”

Her eyes glued to the mud beneath her feet, Hermione could only shake her head, biting her lip to keep it from trembling. The heat from her anger was burning out, leaving her cold. All she could do now was cry.

Ginny stepped closer, her hand going to Hermione’s shoulder. “I’m sorry,” she whimpered. “I just saw how miserable Ron was and I couldn’t think straight. He’s been so lost without you.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, grunting. She remembered how Ron looked at breakfast, in Transfiguration. He didn’t look _lost_ to her.

“Honestly, Hermione. He didn’t mean any of it. Said so himself. Ron was just being a jealous git.”

Hermione’s shoulders coiled tighter and tighter. She shook her head. She couldn’t listen to this. Now Ginny was as bad as Harry. Hermione didn’t want to hear anything that would give her hope. She wanted be left alone.

The rain was dying down a bit, so that Hermione could easily hear the sudden decrease in childish screaming a split second before Professor McGonagall’s distinctive voice rang out, “ _What_ is going on here?”

“Come on,” Ginny hissed, grabbing Hermione’s arm and pulling her in the direction opposite to where McGonagall was extracting a sodden Lavender Brown from a mud-caked Emma Drokhurst. Any other day, any other situation, it would have been humorous.

Once Ginny had pulled her back inside the corridor, she turned to Hermione and took a deep breath. Apologetically, she began, “Look, Hermione—”

But Hermione couldn’t take anymore talk, anymore arguing, anymore anything really. She was physically and emotionally drained. Not to mention, wet to the bone and shivering cold. “We’re going to be late for class,” she murmured, pulling away.

“Hermione—” Ginny called out behind her.

But Hermione quickly muttered, “I’ll talk to you later,” and hastily made her escape down the hallway. She concentrated on breathing deeply to get her tears under control, though it must be hard to notice she was crying when she looked like a drowned rat.

Hermione hurried as quickly as she could to Defense Against the Dark Arts, which wasn’t very. There was only so fast one could move with water logged robes and having to stop to clean off the trail of mud in the hallway every two minutes. Her crying had stilled but her hair continued to drip steady streams of rainwater down her face.

What a wonderful way to arrive to her first day of Practical Defense. Of all the classes to show up late and sodden for, it would have to be _this_ one, the one where Hermione personally knew each student there and had spent the summer with the professor, who, of course, could read her mind _and_ her humiliation.

Instead of being separated by house, this year Defense Practicals were being divided by skill level, determined by O.W.L. marks, which basically meant it was like walking into a meeting for Dumbledore’s Army. Thankfully, Hermione wouldn’t have to deal with any Slytherins, but the fact that Lavender and Parvati had been dragged away, at least partially due to her, would make Hermione stand out even more.

Most of the classroom had been cleared for practice, two dozen desks pushed to the front, where her “friends” were gossiping in close clusters, shooting her curious glances as she dragged herself inside. What made it worse was that the only open seats were in the front row. So, just to make her shame complete, Hermione had to walk past everyone in her wretched, water-logged state.

Keeping her shoulders back and her chin up, Hermione sloshed up to the front aisle desk. She gritted her teeth to keep her expression impassive and dropped her rucksack on the floor, where it landed with a wet plop.

As she shrugged out of her soggy robes, Hermione heard a rustling and out of the corner of her eye, she saw Harry gather up his things and quickly move to the desk next to hers. She bit back a moan, wishing he wouldn’t.

Harry was just trying to be sweet and supportive. Hermione knew that. But her emotional control was on tenterhooks as it was and just about anything could push her over. Ron was in this room. She could practically _feel_ him behind her. She really didn’t want to fall apart.

But, despite his good intentions, Harry didn’t understand what she needed. He leaned in close to her, asking in a concerned voice, “All right there, Hermione?”

“Fine,” Hermione said tersely, trying not to snap. Keeping her eyes down, she pulled out her wand and careful preformed a drying charm on, first, her rucksack and books, followed by her robe as it dripped from the back of her chair.

Harry started to say something else, but … Hermione’s heart took an abrupt tumble and started to beat erratically as Ron quickly moved his stuff to Harry’s desk. Oh god, he wasn’t going to sit there or, heaven forbid, try to talk to her! Was he? That would _definitely_ push Hermione over into the abyss.

She did her best to ignore both boys, concentrating, instead, on ringing out her hair. But Ron didn’t approach her. He grabbed Harry’s arm, pulling him out of his chair. What was he doing? Had Ron decided to wage an all out war for Harry? Wasn’t she miserable enough, did he have to steal her last friend? This day couldn’t possibly get worse. Blinking, Hermione began drying her shoes and socks, mechanically moving up to her skirt.

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” Harry whispered to Ron, before falling into what seemed to be a whispered argument. Hermione couldn’t really make out what they said, but she secretly hoped Harry would tell Ron to sod off.

But, instead, Harry snapped, “Fine,” and grabbed his books. _Damn it_!

Then, to Hermione’s complete shock and utter horror, Ron took Harry’s place beside her. She held herself stiff, totally still. It was impossible to continue the drying charms and her wet top clung uncomfortably. She couldn’t remember a single spell. All she could do was fix her eyes to her desk and try to breathe.

A familiar freckled hand reached out and slipped a piece of parchment over, onto the desk in front of her. Hermione closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She bit her lip. It was numb by the time she opened her eyes again and allowed herself to read the simple, hastily scribbled words.

_I didn’t mean it._

_I’m a git._

_Forgive me._

There was only one thing left to do. Hermione burst into tears.

 

* * * * *


	50. This Time

Once Ron made the decision to be the sort of man he wanted to be and fight for Hermione he felt lighter.  Exuberant almost.  Hopeful. 

 

Then he realized that he had no bloody clue how he was to go about it.  He needed a plan.  Ron hated plans.  He was rubbish at coming up with them.  For awhile he entertained the thought that maybe he didn’t really need one.  He could just try harder, in his studies, in his prefect duties, in war preparation, and take things as they come.  _That_ he could handle.

 

But fixing things with Hermione wasn’t going to be that easy.  And he wasn’t even talking about the romantic shite.  Their friendship was currently in tatters and Ron wasn’t going to be able to bumble through fixing it, not after everything he’d said.  For _that_ , he needed a bloody plan.  Shite.

 

Ron was quite pleased with his first attempt.  It was beautiful in its simplicity.  He just needed to get Adrianna to tell him what to do.  It was foolproof.  And, also, familiar territory.  Ron had never lost with getting the women in his life to figure stuff out for him.

 

But, naturally, Adrianna had a different definition of “help” than Ron did, one that involved bringing up more questions than Ron had room in his head for, criticizing every idea he came up with, and generally making him come up with his own plan.  Then Adrianna had the bollocks to say, get this, “If you don’t like plans than call it a strategy.  You’re good at strategies, aren’t you?”

 

Strategy, his freckled white arse!  Ron was beginning to see how Adrianna had driven poor Charlie around the bend.

 

What quickly became clear was that if Ron wanted to do this right, it wasn’t going to happen quickly.  Shite, that sounded like something Hermione would say.  Maybe if he listened to her in the first place he wouldn’t be in this mess.

 

Ron seriously considered getting his life in order _before_ bringing Hermione back into the picture.  It made sense, even if it felt like the cowards way out.  But at least he’d have more time and it was probably best not to approach Hermione until he had a proper “strategy.”

 

That plan (plan number two, as it was) was tossed out the window a soon as Hermione walked into the Defense Against Dark Arts Classroom looking like a drown Kneazle.  An utterly, horrifically miserable drown Kneazle.  It made Ron’s heart clench and guilt threatened to suffocate him.  It was all his fault.  He wasn’t sure how, but it was definitely his fault.

 

All his grand ideas and shiny new life aspirations were complete rubbish if he was going to let Hermione walk around in pain.  If Ron couldn’t take care of her properly, then what was the point in being a better man?  And for Ron to care for her, Hermione had to be speaking to him. 

 

  1.   All right, then.  Plan number three, step one:  Get Hermione speaking to him again. 



 

“Harry, budge over and let me sit next to Hermione,” Ron hastily whispered to his best friend, already depositing his books on the desk Harry had recently occupied.

 

“What?” Harry’s voice squeaked with shock and panic as he looked at Ron as if he were nutters, resisting Ron’s attempts to displace him from his seat next to Hermione.

 

As for Hermione, she was ignoring them completely, carefully performing her drying charms in a regimented sort of way.  But even if Ron hadn’t noticed her shoulders stiffen, he’d know she was listening.  Hermione was _always_ paying attention.

 

Dropping his voice even further, Ron leaned closer to Harry and whispered, “ _Budge_ over.  I need to talk to Hermione.”  When Harry continued to look at him as if he were mad, Ron added, “Isn’t that what you’ve been begging me to do for days?”

 

Harry grunted incredulously.  “You want to talk to her _now_?”

 

Ron cast another glance at Hermione as she rang out her long hair, her face streaked with tracks that didn’t look anything like rain.  “Yeah, _now_.”

 

“This is not a good idea,” Harry protested immediately, his voice louder this time, which caused Hermione to stiffen again.  Bloody hell.

 

“I have a plan,” Ron whispered.  Actually, Ron had a hastily scribbled note, since five minutes ago, his _plan_ was to come up with a better plan later.  Now, it involved apologizing, groveling if necessary and generally doing whatever necessary to get Hermione to smile again.  He’d work out the details later.

 

Harry’s eye brows shot up.  “Plan?  _You_ have a plan?”

 

“Yes, me,” Ron hissed.  Now, he was insulted.  “Adrianna says I’m the strategist on this team, which means _I_ should be the one making the plans and I’m starting now.”

 

Harry looked far from impressed.  Frowning, he whispered sternly, “Ron, this is serious.”

 

All right, enough was enough.  Ron grabbed Harry’s books off the desk and shoved them at him, snapping, “You think I don’t know that!”

 

Frowning even deeper, Harry stared him down, but Ron wasn’t moving and, finally, Harry spat, “Fine.”  Throwing Ron a don’t-fuck-this-up look, he moved back a row.

 

Ron took a deep breath and quickly sat in the seat next to Hermione.  Don’t think.  Just do, he told himself.  If he took the time to think about it, Ron would chicken out for certain.

 

As soon as he sat, Hermione’s drying charms came to an abrupt stop and she became stiff and unyielding next to him.  Ron was not going to panic.  Gryffindor courage.  He had to have some, somewhere, deep inside.  All he needed was enough to slide the small piece of parchment in front of her. 

 

Swallowing, he forced his hand to move the note over, wishing he’d been able to come up with something more eloquent, but this was the best he could do on short notice. When Hermione didn’t immediately respond, Rom forced himself to look at her.  God, she was so close.  It felt as if they hadn’t been this close in ages.

 

Her eyes were closed.  Hermione was trying to block him out and all he wanted to do was brush the wet curls out of her face.  That probably wouldn’t go over well at the moment. She wouldn’t even look at him.  Or, more importantly, the note he wrote.  Ron clenched his hands until he felt his fingers go numb.  What if Hermione refused to read it at all?  What if she never let him apologize?  What if she never spoke to him again?

 

Hermione took a deep breath and Ron held his.  Her eyes opened and he watched the tension on her face give way to shock as she read the simple words.  Was it _that_ out of character for him to apologize?

 

Then her breath hitched and her lip trembled and to Ron’s complete and utter horror, Hermione fell apart in front of him.  She didn’t _just_ cry.  The sounds that came from her throat … one would think some strange bird was being slaughtered.  Oh fuck, what did he do?

 

“Shite,” Ron muttered, panicked.  And Hermione cried louder.  Bloody hell, what was he thinking?  He knew she hated swearing.  “I’m sorry,” he pleaded, desperately.  “I didn’t mean it.  I won’t swear anymore.  I promise.  I’m sorry.”

 

Hermione’s sobbing intensified and she hunched over, her arms clutching her middle.  Ron’s hands hovered uselessly in the air.  His instincts told him to touch her, hold her, but that was also the part of his brain that wrote the damn note and look where that got him.

 

“Bloody hell,” Harry hissed, red-faced and furious as he tried to push between them.  “What the hell did you do?”

 

“I’m handling this,” Ron snapped, shoving Harry back and wrapping an arm around Hermione’s shoulders before he could stop himself.  The contact was jarring.  For both of them. 

 

Hermione cried still harder and Ron began to worry that she would hyperventilate.  But she wasn’t pulling away.  That was something, wasn’t it?  Even if she couldn’t breathe?  Leaning down, Ron whispered, almost hysterically, “It’s ok.  I’m sorry.  I’m sorry.”  Damn it.  Why wasn’t this working?  “Hermione?”

 

“Ron?” she whimpered, just before she leaned into him.  Just barely.  But it was enough.

 

  1.   Now _he_ was going to cry.  Ron wrapped his other arm around her as well and pulled her closer.  It wasn’t until then that he looked up and realized they were creating quite a spectacle.  Ron’s eyes narrowed at the busy-bodies staring at them like stupid bug-eyes gits and tightened his hold on her.



 

“Ron!” Adrianna called sternly, sounding disturbingly McGonagalish despite her stubborn American refusal to use last names.  Ron’s eyes jerk up and his shoulders stiffened in response.  “Will you _please_ bring Hermione outside to get herself together so that I can start this very important lesson?”

 

Hermione whimpered in embarrassment, but Ron saw the light in Adrianna’s eyes and gave her a small, grateful smile, before nodding.  “Yes, Professor.”  His arm dropped to Hermione’s waist as he lead her from the room, throwing deadly looks at all the prats who dared gape at them as they passed.

 

They made it out into the hallway and, still, Hermione wouldn’t look at him.  She was shivering, tears pouring down her face.  Now what?  No matter what scenario Ron had run through in his mind, she always took over at this point.  She’d lecture, or yell or whatever and he’d take his punishment like a good boy, apologize, then it would be over.  And hopefully, their friendship could be back on track.  But this frozen, helpless Hermione … she wasn’t someone Ron recognized.

 

Well, things weren’t getting any better with him standing here like a lump.  He had to say something.  Bloody hell, this being a better man shite was ruddy difficult.  Taking a deep breath, Ron managed, “Hermione?  I … I’m really sorry.  I …”  He was really bollixing this up, was what he was doing. 

 

Why wouldn’t she look at him?  It was really starting to freak him out.  He needed Hermione to look at him damn it.  But willing it wasn’t helping so Ron finally took matters into his own hands and tipped her chin up so he could look into her beautiful shinning eyes. Thank god, she let him.  He didn’t know what he was going to do if she didn’t.

 

Tears clung to Hermione’s lashes.  Her lip trembled.  She mouthed something that might have been Ron’s name and he was starting to wonder what the hell he had set in motion when she hurled herself at him. 

 

At first, Ron was certain that she was going to hit him, which, really would have been just fine.  But, instead, Hermione grabbed a fist full of school jumper and buried her face in his chest, muffling the sobs as her shoulders began to shake.  Damn.  Couldn’t she just punch him?

 

Ron was quite certain that she’d really cracked this time.  And he was equally sure that it was his fault.  After another pathetically long moment of indecision, he wrapped his arms around her.  He reckoned he’d just have to be comforting, right?  And eventually, hopefully, she’d be the rational Hermione he knew and loved.  Adored even.

 

Hermione made a whimpering noise and burrowed closer.  “It’s ok,” he whispered, because it was the only thing he could think of.  “It’s ok.  Everything will be ok.” 

 

Ron rubbed her back and shoulders and swore to himself that he’d make this up to her.  Whatever it took.  He’d made this promise before.  This time he wasn’t going to let his own pride and insecurities get in the way.  Hermione was wet and cold and it was quickly soaking through his jumper, though her face was warm.  

 

He had the strong impulse to slip his hands under her shirt to properly warm her back.  It was harder than Ron would have liked to restrain himself.  But he had to.  He remembered very clearly the last time she was wet and cold and upset.  He took care of her that night, hadn’t he?  It was the first time she’d been starkers in his arms. 

 

Ron had to wonder, if he’d handled the situation better would he and Hermione be in a better place today.  This time, he couldn’t go in that direction.  He couldn’t let his prick make his decisions for him. He wasn’t going to take the easy way out.  _This_ time, Ron had to do things right.  It might be his last chance.

 

Wrapping his loose robe around the both of them, Ron curled himself around her, pressing his check to her wet temple.  God, it felt amazing to hold Hermione again, no matter what the circumstances.  She felt so right, melted into him so easily.  He’d been so stupid.  There should never be a time when he didn’t have the right to hold her.  If he was, Ron had no one to blame but himself.

 

He stiffened as he saw Professor McGonagall approach down the hallway, but nothing short of a hippogriff stampede was going to get Ron to let Hermione go while she was still crying, so he held on tight and braced himself for the inevitable concentration.

 

It didn’t help that McGonagall was currently clutching the arms of both Lavender Brown and Parvati Patel, as she all but dragged them toward the classroom.  The looked as if they’d been rolling around in a pigsy, mud caking their normally revoltingly perfect hair. 

 

Hermione didn’t need those two seeing her in this state and what the hell had happened to them anyway?  Ron vaguely remembered hearing about a fight in the courtyard, but had been too distracted to care.  Had Lavender and Parvati been involve in the fight?  Ron felt the cold jumper under his hands.  Bloody hell, had _Hermione_?  Fuck. 

 

“Mr. Weasley.”  Even though he was expecting it, Ron still shuddered when McGonagall called his name in that familiar, disapproving tone.  “Do you and Mss Granger have someplace you are supposed to be?”

 

Hermione stiffened, no doubt realizing for the first time that they had company, but her only response was to burrow her eyes deeper into his jumper.  Ron drew himself up and, with more bravery than he felt, said, “We have permission.  Professor Potter knows that we’re out here.”

 

McGonagall gave them a long, slow looking over and Ron began to sweat, but then she gave a sharp nod and he was able to breathe again.  That’s when he noticed Lavender and Parvati grinning wickedly at him and Hermione, whispering to each other as well the bloody bints.  This must be a lovely piece of gossip for them, finding him and Hermione like this.  Well, if they saw themselves in the mirror they wouldn’t be so smug.

 

“Enough,” McGonagall snapped, yanking at the girls, and pushing them toward the door.  “You want to act like gutter trash, than you can very well sit through class looking like gutter trash.”

 

Ron stared at the door closed long after they had disappeared inside the classroom.  How _had_ Lavender and Parvati got into such a state?  And why did he have the sinking feeling it had something to do with the girl in his arms.  “Hermione?” he asked carefully.  “Why are you so wet?”

 

Hermione’s only response was a whimper and a tug on his shirt.  Shite.  Ron swallowed, whispering, “Does it have anything to do with Lavender and Parvati looking as thought they had been attacked by the Great Lake?”

 

“Oh god.”

 

Oh god, was right.  “Hermione you didn’t … you didn’t get into a fight with Lavender and Parvati did you?”  Ron was trying not to panic.  More than that he was trying to keep his filthy mind from thinking about how fucking sexy that would have been.  Hermione mud wrestling her roommates.  Bloody hell.

 

“No!” she squealed,  or probably squealed, it was hard to tell as she wouldn’t remove her mouth from his shirt.  


“Then—”

 

“Lavender and Parvati were fighting Ella and Emma,” Hermione admitted in a rush, taking gasping breathes as she did so.  “God,” She whimpered, the tears that sobs that had only just subsided starting back up again.

 

Now Ron was truly frightened. “What does that have to do with—”

 

“Because they were fighting _about_ me!” Hermione interrupted, hysterical.  “Lavender and Parvati were defending me.  Emma and Ella had been spreading awful rumors, about me.  Us.”

 

“Really?”  Wow, Ron wouldn’t have thought Lavender and Parvati had it in them.  Good on them—wait a minute.  “What rumors?”  They must have been pretty bad to have Hermione fall an apart like this.  She usually handled other people’s bollocks better than anyone.  Usually she was the one lecturing him to ignore everyone.

 

Hermione let out a sob that ended in a hiccup before she muttered, “It doesn’t matter now.”

 

“Like hell it doesn’t!  And why are you so wet?  If they did anything—” 

 

Ron was working himself into quite a state when Hermione distracted him by sighing and wrapping her arms around his waist.  “Don’t.  It’s fine.  I just got caught in the rain with Ginny.”

 

  1.   Ok.  Wait.  No, not ok.  Ginny had been insanely stubborn in her indictment of Hermione over the last few days.  “You and Ginny didn’t row did you?  I’ll kill her if—”



 

“No.  No,” Hermione reassured quickly, rubbing her nose against him as she shook her head.  “Well, just the yelling sort anyway.”

 

Ron frowned.  As if that was any better.  Ginny yelling at Hermione in the rain, when she was already upset.  His little sister needed to learn when to mind her own business.  “I’m still going to kill her.”

 

That mustn’t have been very comforting, because Hermione started crying again, shivering violently this time.  Bloody hell this was entirely his fault.  If Ron wasn’t such a bastard, Hermione would still be sane.

 

“Come ‘mere,” Ron murmured, pulling her down the hall, out of sight of the classroom and onto a stone bench.  They didn’t need to be interrupted by McGonagall a second time.  Once she was sitting he insisted, “Tell me what happened.”  Though he couldn’t help but feel he was avoiding the real issues.  It was much easier to play her defender, as if everything was as it always was then to deal with _them_.

 

She held herself tightly, curling into herself, her teeth chattering as she shook her head in refusal.  Hermione was closing herself off.  Shite.  Looking down, she mumbled, “I’m sorry, I’m acting ridiculous.”

 

“Don’t be stupid—I mean, it’s fine, ok?  It’s going to be ok.”  He rubbed her arms briskly in hopes of stopping the shivering and he was graced with a small smile.  Ron grinned back like an idiot.  God, it seemed like ages since she’d smiled at him.

 

Letting out a nervous breath, Ron’s mind started to clear.  Everything was going to be ok.  He grabbed his wand from his pocket, quickly performed the drying charm on Hermione’s torso.  Why he hadn’t thought of it before?  He was such an idiot.

 

Then Ron wished he hadn’t thought of it at all as he watched in horror as Hermione’s school jumper shrunk to half its usual size, hugging her curves and moving up her belly.  She looked fucking amazing, sitting there with her long wet curls.  Shite.  Shite.  And double shite.

 

“Sh—I mean,” Ron sputtered, “god, I’m sorry, Hermione.  I’m rubbish at these charms.”  And exactly how did he think he was going to become a powerful wizard again?

 

Hermione stared down at herself, open-mouthed.  Then, with an adorable little hiccup, her hand flew to her mouth and she burst out in giggles.

 

Ron grinned at her.  He’d managed to cheer her up, at least.  His incompetence was worth something.  “It’s not funny,” he joked.  “Now, I can’t let you back into that classroom with all those leeches.”  Particularly, slimy Irish leeches.  Taking off his robe, he draped it around her shoulders.  “I should have remembered I’m rubbish at that charm.”

 

Her giggles transformed into laughter.  It had a somewhat mad quality about it and when she shook her head it was positively wild, leaving wet hair clinging to her face.  God, she was beautiful.  “You’re not rubbish at it.  You did the charm correctly.  It always shrinks wool.”

 

Scoffing, Ron automatically muttered, “Yeah, and I should have remembered that.  I should—”

 

“Oh Ron.”

 

“Oh no, don’t start crying again.”  But it was too late, the tears were flowing again and Ron was starting to feel dizzy from her rapidly swinging moods.  He’d really pushed her over the edge this time.  How the hell was he supposed to fix _this_?  “Hermione,” he pleaded, cupping her cheek and brushing her tears away.  “I’m sorry if I—”

 

Hermione shook her head, curling her hand around his and holding it to her cheek.  “No, I … _Ron_.”

The way Hermione said his name made Ron’s stomach flip over and all he wanted to do was pull her into his lap and worship her the best way he knew how.  The only way.  But he really needed to find a better way to show her how much she meant to him than mauling her.

 

But when he tried _telling_ her, Hermione put her fingers to his lips mouth, “No.”  Ron kissed her fingertips, even though he probably shouldn’t have.  They just felt so good.  “Oh Ron.  You don’t need to be sorry.  I … I’m so, _so_ sorry.  It’s my fault.”

 

“No!”

 

“Shh.  Please listen, I … Ron, I said the most horrible things to you that day.  I don’t know how you’ll ever forgive me,” Hermione whimpered, ending in a sob.

 

Well, at least, they were finally getting to the heart of the matter.  Even if she did  have it all backwards and if she were thinking clearly she’d see that.  Ron pulled her hand away from his mouth, squeezing it in his.  “Don’t.  Why wouldn’t I forgive …?  All you did was tell the truth.  There _are_ better blokes out there.  You deserve—”

 

“No!” Hermione yelled vehemently, making Ron start in the abrupt change in tone.  “Stop it.  Don’t you ever say that!  No one, no one is better.  It was a horrible, _vicious_ lie.”

 

Ron sucked in a hissing breath, blinking his eyes.  What was she saying?  Damn, now he was going to cry.

 

“I couldn’t even come up with any ways other blokes were better than you,” Hermione continued, her voice trembling.  “I just babbled on like an idiot because it wasn’t true.  I was … I was just trying to hurt you.  I was just so hurt, I wanted to make you feel what I felt.  Oh god.”  Her hand again flew to her mouth, but Ron caught it, entwining their fingers.

 

“No, Hermione, that just proves you were right.”  Ron’s voice was rough and he found that his throat was so thick he had trouble forcing the words out.  He couldn’t believe anyone, let alone Hermione, was saying these things to him.  “It just shows what kind of man I am, that I would say such malicious things to you, hurt you like that.  You deserve better than that.  You deserve to be treated better.

 

Hermione was shaking her head again, but at least the tears had stopped.  “But—”

 

“You _do_ , Hermione.  There is no excuse for how I treated you.  I had no self control.  I reacted totally without thought, without reason.  You deserve more.”

 

“But I want _you_.”

 

“Oh god.”  Ron closed his eyes and brought both her hands to his lips, kissing them a bit too passionately, struggling against the urge to cry and, more importantly kiss _other_ parts of her.  It was one thing to imagine she might fancy him, but to hear her _say_ she wanted him, it was overwhelming.  “Then I’ll have to do better.  I have to be albe to control myself.  I was so jealous I couldn’t see straight.  I can’t act like a lunatic every time—”

 

“But that was my fault,” Hermione insisted, climbing onto her knees on the bench and speaking rapidly.  “I never should have let you be jealous.  If I had been honest with you … Seamus didn’t mean anything to me, _doesn’t_ mean anything to me.  We were just talking, I wouldn’t have … I’d never … there was _nothing_ to be jealous of.”

 

Ron’s eyes were beginning to cloud over.  He felt relieved and touched and so bloody in love with her, he couldn’t stand it.  He was going to do this right this time.  He was _going_ to be the kind of man that deserved her, if it was the last thing he did.  “There will always be blokes interested in you, Hermione.  You’re beautiful and—”

 

Hermione scoffed.  “Ron, I—”

 

“You _are_ ,” Ron interrupted, his tone too much like a reprimand.  “I just wish you’d believe me.  I can’t continue to just go off like that every time someone is interested in you.  I should have asked you what was going on.  I shouldn’t have just assumed.”

 

“God,” Hermione breathed, clutching Ron’s hands and closing her eyes.  “How can you not see how wonderful you are?”

 

Ron laughed, not in disbelief, he was finally beginning to see that she actually meant these things, but because nothing in his life had ever made him feel his good.  “No, you just don’t see how much _you_ deserve.”

 

“Ron—”

 

“Hermione,” Ron said, excitement starting to rise up in him, along with a new certainty that this could all work out after all.  “I’m trying to do better.  I’m _going_ to.  I’m going to treat you better, everyone better.  I’m done being stupid and lazy and giving up before I have a chance to fail.  I’m going to be a better friend, a better student, a better prefect.  I’m trying to be more responsible and this T.A. thing, I’m really trying—”

 

Hermione squeezed his hand.  “I know.  I’ve seen it, everybody has.  I’m so proud of you.”

 

Great, Hermione was crying.  Again.  “Please, tell me those are good tears this time.”

 

She nodded, sniffling, but Ron wasn’t all that convinced.  “The whole school has noticed.  You’ve been _brilliant_ as a T.A., in Transfiguration, in—”

 

“No,” Ron protested immediately, his cheeks and ears warming.

 

“ _Yes_.  If you want me to … if you want me to believe you when you say I’m … I’m pretty—”

 

“Beautiful.”

 

“Beautiful then.”  Hermione glanced up at him with a shy smile.  “You need to believe me when I say you’ve been amazing and everyone has seen it.  Every girl in school has a crush on you.”

 

Ron almost laughed at that.  He might be able to believe that she saw him that way, but every girl in school.  That was bollocks.  “Hermione—”

 

“It’s true.  Why do you think Ella and Emma hate me so much?”

 

Ron growled, his insecurities fading in the face of his fury  He knew he was squeezing her hands to tightly by the way Hermione grimaced, but he couldn’t help it.  “As if I could fancy cows like them.  Bloody bints—sorry.”

 

Hermione blushed, a ghost of a smile on her face.  “No, It’s ok.  They are.  But not every girl who’s noticed you is a cow.”  She looked down, her lip trembling.  “You could have your pick.  See what’s out there, what dating is like?”

 

Ron frowned.  Why was Hermione saying this?  It gave him a sinking feeling in his stomach.  Had he misinterpreted her words?  “Why would I want to do that?”

 

Her eyes jerked up, shinning. “Don’t all blokes want to try out different girls?  Gain experience?”

 

Letting out a deep breath, Ron smiled in relief.  She was just insecure.  Hermione had no reason to be, but that at least was something he could understand.  Tipping her chin up, he murmured, “I have enough experience, don’t you think?”  He searched Hermione’s eyes.  Please let this be ok.  “Next time I’d rather … I’d want something more significant.”

 

Hermione licked her lips and Ron couldn’t take his eyes off them.  They were glistening, calling to him.  In a small voice, she asked, “Did you have someone in mind?”

 

Gulping, Ron nodded, forcing himself to look into her eyes and not at her lips.  Hermione’s eyelashes fluttered and he realized that they were only millimeters away.  How had that happened?  They couldn’t kiss.  Not now.  He’d lose all reason.  He needed to be strong.  Dear god, let him be strong.

 

 

 

 

* * * * *

 

 

 

It was all so unreal.  The whole day.  It had been shaping up to be the most horrific, humiliating day of Hermione’s life. 

 

Then, suddenly, it was the best.  Hermione went from no hope at all to—

 

It was dizzying, disorienting.  Her emotions were changing so quickly, she didn’t know what to do with them all.  The excess just kept spilling over in the form of these pathetic tears. 

 

But then there was Ron.  Ron being more wonderful than Hermione could have ever imagined, being so mature and responsible and perfect.  Too perfect.  The things he was saying, this couldn’t be real.  But, god, she wanted it to be.

 

It seemed it was all finally, truly happening.  Just when Hermione had given up all hope, they were actually going to be together, really together.  She was so excited, so hopeful, that she lost her head.  She went to kiss him and Ron … he … he turned his head away, kissing her cheek instead.

 

Hermione crumbled.  And, this time, she didn’t know if she was going to be able to pull herself together again.  But if she could have stopped it, she would have.  She’d misinterpreted everything.  Again.  Her stomach dropped, the flood gates opened, and her insides practically tingled with urgent need to _run_. 

 

Yanking herself out of Ron’s touch, she backed away.  “Sorry, I … I misunderstood.  I’ll just …”  Just what?  Hermione  had no idea.  She just swiped at her drenched cheeks, stumbling out of her seat, desperate for escape.

 

But Ron was after her in a second, grabbing her arms, holding her back.  He was faster and more coordinated than Hermione was.  But that wasn’t hard, seeing as _he_ wasn’t a pathetic emotional basket case.  No, he was rational and mature and _perfect_.  And he wasn’t good enough for her?  Ha!  Ron was practically blossoming, while Hermione, she was disintegrating.

 

“No!” Ron protested, though she didn’t know _what_ exactly he was protesting so vehemently.  “No, Hermione, I—”

 

“It’s fine,” she lied, struggling to free herself.  Hermione just needed to get out of there.  She couldn’t be near him, not now, not like this.

 

“Stop!” Ron yelled, almost shaking her, which was understandable since she really was hysterical and that was what one did with crazy, hysterical women.  “Don’t run away, we need to talk about—god, don’t cry.  There’s nothing … you didn’t misunderstand.  Stop struggling.  Hermione, will you _please_ just listen to me.”

 

Hermione wanted to listen.  She did.  But he needed to understand that she couldn’t right now.  And touching him ... it was too much.  “Ron, just let me go.  Later.  I’ll listen later.  I just—”

 

“No!”  Ron yanked her back to him.  “I … Hermione I wanted to kiss you.”  _That_ got her attention.  “I _want_ to kiss you.  I do.  Very much.” 

 

Then why wouldn’t he?  Hermione sobbed, it was all too much.  But she stopped struggling, she couldn’t not hear what he had to say now.  Whimpering, she stared at his chest and prayed that he would say something, anything that would make this just minutely better.

 

 “But if we did,” Ron continued, “it wouldn’t be just a kiss.  It would spiral out of control and we can’t … _I_ can’t let that happen.”

 

“Why not?”  Heavens, had she said that out loud?  Pitiful.

 

“You’re going to kill me here,” Ron breathed and his tone gave Hermione the strength she needed to look at him.  His eyes were on the ceiling and when he looked back at her the eye contact was so intense she didn’t think she could stand it, but she couldn’t look away either.  She was trapped. 

 

“Hermione, because … because we can’t _Practice_ anymore.  This thing between us, it’s out of control.”  Hermione winced, pulling her eyes away, but Ron’s grip only tightened as he pleaded,  “Will you listen to me?  You’re not a slag, Hermione, and I respect you.  It’s … it’s this _thing_ between us.  It’s too intense.  It takes over.”

 

It took a minute for his words to sink in, but when they did some of the panic left her and she realized that Ron was talking sense.  Unlike her.  More then that Ron was talking about the “thing” between, acknowledging it as more than Practice, calling it “intense” even.  It had to be a good sign.  She needed to pull herself together and try to act mature.  Deep breathes.  In and out. 

 

“I know,” Hermione finally managed to whisper.

 

Ron’s grip on her loosened and Hermione stepped away, but this time she wasn’t running.  She sunk bonelessly onto the bench, her eyes on the floor.  She was so drained and the conversation was just beginning.  But when Ron sat next to her and grabbed her arms, maneuvering her so she was facing him, she knew she’d find the energy.  This was too important not to.

 

“Hermione,” Ron beseeched, his voice low and desperate enough to pull her eyes to his, “I need you to be that brilliant, logical witch I know you are and listen to me all the way through, all right?”  As apposed to the pathetic illogical girl she was being?  Hermione didn’t know if she could make any promises.  “Just remember that I’m rubbish at this.”

 

She laughed at that.  Then she swallowed and nodded, willing herself to do as Ron asked, even though she was completely terrified of what he was going to say.  Hermione pulled  Ron’s robe up and around her again, breathing in his scent.  It had slipped, forgotten, during her desperate need to flee.  How stupid she was.  She couldn’t escape him, he was in her skin.

 

“Hermione,” Ron repeated, then took a shaky breath and continued in a rush, “we went about this all wrong.  Practicing was a huge mistake.”

 

Oh god.  It was even worse than Hermione thought.  She let out another sob, couldn’t help it.  Pressing the back of her hand to her mouth, she tried to trap the rest inside.  She promised she’d let him finish, even if keeping her eyes on him was almost painful.

 

All the same, Ron began to panic.  “No.  No, not a huge mistake.  I meant …. god, I’m mucking it up all ready.”  He snatched up Hermione’s hand.  “I mean, it shouldn’t have been about Practice.  It … damn, I mean, the snogging and physical stuff shouldn’t have come first.  We kept trying to connect in that way, when we should have, well, talked or something.”

 

Hermione’s jaw dropped, shock pushing it’s way to the forefront, all other emotions temporarily forgotten.  Now, she knew this wasn’t for real.  Perhaps it was a dream.  She giggled, for want of anything else to do.  Though, it sounded incongruous and odd to her own ears.  Shaking her head, she murmured, “I can’t believe you said that.”

 

Then Ron gave her that beautiful lop-sided smile that Hermione so loved and she melted.  “Me neither,” he joked.

 

She giggled giddily again, experiencing yet _another_ mood swing.  No wonder blokes thought all girls were mad.  She needed to focus here.  Looking up at Ron, Hermione asked softly, “Are you certain you’re feeling all right?”

 

Ron laughed, seeming almost breathless.  “I dunno.  But it’s me, I swear.”  He entwined their fingers and Hermione knew it was.  She’d recognize his touch anywhere.  “You can hang around to make sure I’m not a Polyjuice Imposter.  I’ll let you test all my drinks.”

 

Hermione was feeling a little breathless herself.  Only their hands were touching but the intimacy in the air was palpable, maybe thicker than it had ever been before. “I suppose I won’t be able to let you out of my sight.”

 

“No.  I suppose not,” Ron murmured and in that moment it seemed certain that he was going to kiss her.  But then he jerked back, blinking as if he were trying to wake himself up.  “Right.  Yes.  As I was saying.”

 

He seemed so flustered that Hermione smiled even though she would really have preferred to be kissed.  Ron played with her fingers, instead, and that was nice.  Now, it seemed that he was the one unable to meet her eyes. 

 

“I, um,” he began again, “I think we should start over, with the talking and honesty and stuff.”  Ron cleared his throat.  “We need to fix our friendship before,” he looked up at her though lowered lashes, “move on to the fancying each other like mad part.  That’s, um, if you want to move on to that fancying part that is.”

 

Hope erupted, burning Hermione’s eyes.  Had Ron just admitted to fancying her?  Licking her lips, Hermione forced herself to say, “I don’t think I can, Ron.”  His eyes jerked up, crestfallen.  Oh, no, that wasn’t what she meant.  “The, um, fancying part isn’t exactly something I can control exactly.”  Or the falling madly in love part, though she’d certainly tried.  She hoped he understood.

 

Judging from Ron’s broad grin, he seemed to.   More importantly, he seemed to welcome her feelings and that alone was overwhelmingly wonderful. “Yes, well, I, um, very much understand that,” Ron sputtered, ineloquent and utterly beautiful.

 

Hermione swallowed.  Please let this be real.  Ron squeeze her hand tighter and went on, “Maybe I should have said that we should hold off on _acting_ on the fancying like mad part, yeah? The fact that I haven’t mauled you yet must mean I’ve developed some self-control.”  She giggled. “Besides, we were kind of jumping over the fancying part to something else all together.  At least, I was.  Does that make sense?”

 

Hermione blinked up at him.  Was Ron trying to say that he more than fancied her?  Because _that_ she could understand.  Please.  “I … I think so.”

 

“Good.”  Ron’s relief evident on his face, but it seemed he wasn’t done talking.  She didn’t know if she’d ever heard him say so much at once, not when he wasn’t talking about Quidditch or complaining about Malfoy.  He really must have thought this through. “Maybe we could try not skipping parts and I, eh, really need to work on this better man part first, so if you’ll be patient with me, I don’t want to mess this up.”

 

He just kept surprising her.  Hermione nodded, her throat was thick, she’d agree to anything he asked right about now, but she had to … she had to let him know. With great effort, she managed to croak, “But for the record, I can’t really imagine anyone being better than you in this moment.  I’ll wait.  I’ll … oh Ron, if anyone is worth waiting for, it’s you.”

 

Ron let out a sharp breath.  “God, Hermione.  You really know how to test a bloke’s self-control.”  Kissing her hands, he moved in to hug her, kissing her cheek as he did.

 

With a sigh that was almost a whimper Hermione fell into him again.  It was lovely to see him as affected by her as she was by him, beautiful really.  And if they cold still hug and touch like this in this new arrangement they seemed to be forming, then Hermione could certainly handle it. 

 

Ron’s shirt was still wet from when he’d comforted her before.  Her eyes burned and Hermione knew she’d start crying again if she had any tears left.  Pulling him even closer, she whispered, “You are so wonderful.  I’m sorry I let you think otherwise.”

 

Groaning, Ron buried his face in her neck.  Hermione could feel his breath, his eye-lashes, everything seemed clearer, more distinct now.  She didn’t deserve him.  Ron had it all wrong.  They were in this mess because of her.  The Practicing nonsense was her idea.  Hermione thought back over her behavior and how perfect Ron was and her guilt threatened to drown her.

 

The arms around her loosened and Ron cleared his throat, “Maybe we should go to class before the last of that self-control slips away and I change my mind about waiting,” he teased, chuckling as he pulled away and stood.

 

But Hermione wouldn’t follow and she wouldn’t let his hand fall from hers.  Ron turned back and looked at her questioningly, “Hermione?”

 

She couldn’t make herself speak.  What would Ron do if he knew the whole truth?  Would he still want her?  But if she kept it from him … biting her lip, she squeezed her eyes shut and forced herself to say, “I’m the one who needs to work on being a better person.  _I’m_ the one who messed everything up.”

 

Ron’s brow wrinkled as he shook his head, repeating pleadingly, “Hermione—”

 

“No, it’s true and if,” Hermione took a tremulous breath, “ _if_ we’re going to be honest with each other then I need to tell you everything.  I just hope you can forgive me.”  She broke off with a sniffle, wishing she could control herself just once.  Please, god, let her get through what she had to say without collapsing again.

 

“Hermione.” Sitting back next to her, Ron said her name a third time, this time with a combination of concern and fear.  It was amazing how much he could say with just her name.  “You don’t need—”

 

“Please, Ron, it’s my turn.  I need to say this now or I never will.”

 

Ron looked her over.  Reluctantly, he nodded. What would he do once she confessed?  Would he be glad?  Would he push her away in disgust?  Would he yell?  Taking a deep breath, Hermione opened her mouth, speaking quickly before she lost her nerve, “When I suggested Practice, I never wanted to _Practice_.  It was a lie.  A lie and a trick and I’m _so_ sorry.”  

 

Hermione pulled her hand away from his to bury her face in her hands, as the tears she thought were dry flowed anew.  How did she have any _left_?

 

”I don’t understand,” Ron protested, sounding genuinely confused as he pulled at her hands, but she resisted, sickened by the mere idea of seeing betrayal painted across his face. 

 

But Ron didn’t look angry, didn’t look betrayed.  He looked sweet and accepting.  What was wrong with him?  Hermione even made herself sick. “Don’t you get it,” she whimpered.  “I never wanted to learn how to kiss.  I never even imagined kissing anyone else.  I just wanted to be with _you_.”

 

A slow smile spread over Ron’s face and Hermione had to shake her head.  He still didn’t understand.  Ron may be wonderful, but he was still thicker than mud.  Now came the part where she made him hate her.  There was no choice, she had to tell him everything. 

 

Squeezing her eyes closed, Hermione confessed, “And I just … Ron, I thought that if we were together in that way, you’d see finally me as a girl and a partner and that you’d like it so much … oh Ron, I was trying to _make_ you fal—fancy me.  I’m so sorry.”

 

It was his joyous laugh that made Hermione open her eyes.  Then, shocked, she lurched as Ron yanked her back into his arms, rocking her.  “Oh, love.  It’s ok.  God, love, it’s … I just can’t believe you’d do that.”

 

“I know it’s horrible,” Hermione moaned.

 

“No,” Ron protested, again with that odd, mad laugh, kissing her temple.  “I just can’t believe _anyone_ would go to the trouble just to get _me_ to fancy them.  Let alone someone like you.”

 

Hermione grunted.  Could he stop being perfect for just one second.  Looking up at him blurrily, she grabbed his face. She had to make him see.  “You don’t understand.  All of this is my fault.  If I told you the truth at the beginning of the summer, then none of this would have happened.  I was so afraid that I would frighten you away, that you couldn’t stand my … my _feelings_ for you.  I didn’t give you enough credit and I … I don’t deserve you.”

 

And still the fool kept grinning at her, though he looked as though he were about to cry.  Maybe Ron had been afflicted by that bizarre brain condition that had made her completely mental.

 

Shaking his head, Ron smiled against her hands and brushed the tears from her cheeks. “Shh, love.  You _do_ deserve … everything.  You were right.  I probably would have been frightened.  I was just a stupid bloke.  I still am, I’m just more aware of it now, eh?  You were only being clever, being Hermione.”

 

Sniffling and hiccupping, Hermione shook her head.  “Now, you’re just trying to make me feel better, because you’re so ruddy wonderful.”  The prat laughed at her, again.  That was really starting to annoy her.  “You _said_ Practicing was a huge mistake.”

 

“It was a stupid thing to say.  ‘Cause I’m a stupid bloke, yeah?”

 

“No!  Stop saying that!”  Hermione swatted at his arm, but then her head fell bonelessly against his chest, letting him hug her to him.  She was utterly, emotionally exhausted.

 

Rocking her again, Ron murmured into her hair, “Maybe we both needed to be a little daft this summer so we could be here now.”

 

Hermione scoffed.  “Maybe here would be a whole lot better if I hadn’t mucked things up so badly.  Maybe we wouldn’t have to start over.”

 

“Maybe it would be worse.  Maybe I‘d still be that dumb bloke afraid to touch your hand, making stupid, thoughtless jokes, bumbling through life.  And you’d still have to snap at me and boss me around to get me to do anything at all.”

 

She blinked up at him, in awe.  “Yes, well, I suppose this is better than that,” Hermione whispered, feeling a smile creeping up on her.

 

Seemly encouraged, Ron continued, “Maybe we’d even date other people.  How ghastly would that be?  Imagine me with a piece of fluff like Lavender Brown.”

 

“Hey, that piece of fluff pushed Emma Drokhurst in the mud for me.”  The smile was full blown now, Hermione couldn’t help it.  Ron had said that dating other people would be foolish.  Even _after_ Hermione confessed that she had manipulated him.  He was daft to forgive her so easily, but at least he was hers.

 

“Well, I reckon she ok then.”

 

“Don’t you even think about it,” Hermione warned automatically, her tone teasing, but then the familiar insecurities snuck in.  “She fancies you, you know.  Lavender.  She told me.”

 

Ron, bless him, had the grace to look horrified.  “No way.  Sh—what do I do?  I—”

 

Hermione laughed.  He was so sweet.  “Don’t worry.  She promised to stay away from you.  I claimed you.”

 

Ron beamed then.  “You claimed me?”

 

Oh dear.  Had she really said that out loud?  Heavens, Hermione was verbally incontinent today, wasn’t she?  Blushing, she fixed her eyes on one particularly interesting freckle on Ron’s chin, humming, “Mmhm.  According to some Witch Code nonsense she can’t go after you now.”

 

Ron sighed dramatically.  “My hero.”

 

The way he said it made Hermione giggle.  This whole day still seemed surreal.  Sobering, she asked, “So you forgive me?”

 

“For what?”

 

Hermione blinked up at him, incredulous. “For lying.  You know, about Practicing.”

 

His lip quirked and Ron drawled huskily, “Love, you can trick me into snogging anytime you want.”

 

Hermione thought her heart might burst.  He really didn’t care.  It was all going to be alright.  “Really?” she teased, glancing at his lips, that familiar warmth blooming in her pelvis.

 

Ron swallowed, clearing his throat as he grew more serious, pulling back from her infinitesimally.  It was enough.  “I suppose we had better get back to class then.  It would be the responsible thing to do.”

 

Hermione nodded, biting her lip and purposely looking at his eyes and not his lips.  “I reckon so.”

 

Ron took her hand and helped her up, but dropped it too soon as he turned to walk back toward the classroom.  For a moment Hermione watched him, smiling.  Things weren’t perfect, but they were so much better than they were even an hour ago.  And she had hope.  Hope was quite brilliant.

 

They were almost at the door when Ron stopped and turned abruptly, making Hermione jump.  

 

“Oh bugger it!” Ron spit out, rounding on her and taking her face in his big hands.  Hermione’s stomach dropped as his lips took hers, sweet and lovely.  Lips on lips, just the perfect amount of pressure.  Intense.  No tongue, not deep or passionate, but oh so wonderful, emotion coming through with each small movement.

 

It seemed like just a moment before Ron pulled back, saying quickly, “I changed my mind.  I can work on being a better wizard and better man with you as my girlfriend, yeah?”

 

Oh thank Heavens!

“Yes, god, yes,” Hermione was quick to agree, lunging back for another kiss and this time Ron didn’t pull away.  He immediately met her lips, sliding them together.  Just a touch longer and a little deeper.  Tasting.  Celebrating.

 

“Ok, yeah, all right then.”  Ron was giddy when he pulled back.  “So then we can still do the talking about emotions sh—thing and work on the friendship as well—”

 

”Friendship is very important,” Hermione was quick to agree, nodding like a fool.  Dear Heavens, she didn’t want him to back out now.  “It’s the most important part of a relationship,” she reasoned.

 

“Yes! Definitely, yes.” Ron’s silly smile made Hermione forget to be embarrassed by her own empty-headed giddiness.

 

“So, just to be clear,” Hermione clarified.  Because her heart really couldn’t take another turn around.  “We _are_ in relationship?  Like a relationship _relationship_?  As in the romantic sort?”

 

Hermione held her breath as Ron’s eyes widened.  He looked a little frightened and her heart rate doubled.

 

“If that’s…that’s what you want?” Ron asked as if he were trying to appear confident and really wasn’t.

 

Finally, Hermione relaxed, nodding decisively.

 

Ron’s giant smile was back and he pulled her back in with a hard kiss.  “I’m going to be the best boyfriend.  We’ll go on dates to… Homemade, that’s what kids do, yeah?  And we’ll take…picnics and I’ll hex Draco whenever he bothers you—”

 

“You already do that,” Hermione argued, grabbing his hands and holding on tight, joy bubbling up inside.

 

“I’ll do it more.  I’ll do it properly this time.  And I’ll get you … do you want an owl?  I just made an owl.  You can have it.”

 

A jubilant, involuntary laugh bubbled out of Hermione’s mouth.  With her hands entwined with his, staring into his blue eyes, she had just never felt so happy.  She was delirious with it.

 

“Oh Ron, I love you.”

 

Oo….oh no…the words had just tumbled out of Hermione’s mouth.  She immediately recognized her mistake and slapped both hands over her mouth as if to push the words back in.  As if such a thing was possible.  Oh, if only such a thing were possible.

 

Ron for his part was clearly stunned.  Hangdog, frozen, silent and _stunned_.  He stood that way for longest minute of Hermione’s life.  Until finally, he whispered, “What did you say?”

 

And, no, no, _no_ , she was not making that mistake again.  Hermione just shook her head frantically, hands still over her mouth.  Think.  Think.  God damn it.  She needed to think of a way out of this and fast.

 

“Did you just say…?” Ron persisted.

 

Oh how Hermione wished she hadn’t said anything!  Now what?   How was she going to get out of this?  Everything had been going so well and she had to go and mess it all up with pushing too hard too fast.  What was _wrong_ with her?

 

“Hermione, I… I think…” Ron babbled and Hermione braced herself for rejection.  Again.  He took her hands and pealed them away from her mouth, once again holding them in his.  It was a good thing too because Hermione was pretty sure they were trembling. 

 

“I think I love you, too.”

 

Hermione’s eyes snapped wide.  “Really?” she squeaked, her heart jumping to her throat.

 

“Yeah, I think…”  Ron smiled, his voice growing more confident as he spoke.  “Yes.  I think, really…completely.  I’m _certain_.  I love you.”

 

Now Hermione was almost positive this was a dream.  Because things like this didn’t happen to her.  They happened to other girls, but not Hermione. 

 

But just in case it was real, Hermione launched herself into Ron’s arms.  Her lips connected with his.  She had gotten pretty good aim over the last few months.  And Ron, he seemed to approve whole heartedly.  His arms closed around her back, hauling her in as close as he could as his mouth slanted over hers.

 

Things were just about perfect when—

 

“Mr. Weasley!  Ms.Granger!”

 

  1.   Wonderful.  If she weren’t so happy, Hermione would be utterly humiliated.  And maybe just a tad cross.



 

“I don’t suppose Professor Potter gave you permission for _this_?” her once favorite Professor screeched.

 

Hermione was blushing so hard she could feel the heat coming off of her face.  She couldn’t meet the Professor’s eyes. 

 

Luckily Ron, wonderful, perfect Ron, took over, grabbing Hermione’s hand and pulling her toward the classroom.  “So Sorry, Professor.  We were just about to return.  Right now if fact.”

 

Hermione avoided looking at Professor McGonagall, instead hurrying to keep up with Ron’s long strides.  They walked into the classroom with their hands entwined.   Everyone was looking at them.  Harry, smiling with relief.  Adrianna with an exasperated smile. Lavender and Parvati with delighted giggles.

 

She looked at Ron and he smiled back.  It was in that moment Hermione realized this was for real.  It wasn’t a dream.  It wasn’t Practice.  It wasn’t even temporary. 

 

This was her life now and even if Voldemort was out there and Death Eaters were lurking trying to kill them and everything was uncertain…

 

Life was wonderful.

 

 

 

* * * * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that’s all she wrote folks.
> 
> So here’s the Story of Of Hearts and Heroes (and my life) if anybody cares. In 2004, I was in a Fellowship program, had a three hour commute, had just gotten married and had a lot of free time. I was also, obviously, obsessed with Harry Potter. OH&H was my first attempt at writing fanfiction and I made a lot of mistakes, number 1 being making it a monster that was impossible to finish and probably would have taken my entire life to do so.
> 
> July 2006, I graduated, got a real job closer to home and got pregnant. At that time, this chapter was sitting on my flash drive to be edited. I was so nauseous during those first 3 months I couldn’t stand to stare at a screen any longer than necessary. I figured I’d finish this later, perhaps while on Maternity Leave. 
> 
> Turns out it’s hard to write while sleep deprived. Then I went back to work with an infant, had another baby and by then I was pretty much done with Harry Potter (sorry guys). The idea of even rereading this 2000+ page monstrosity was overwhelming. My life exploded into Mom friends and pre-school and Girl Scouts and a million other things and I really didn’t think I’d write again until I retired.
> 
> This spring, my kids turned 6 & 8 and all of a sudden they wanted me around, but not around around, if you know what I mean. At dinner, the other day my eight year old actually said to me, “Ugh these are parent questions,” when I asked about her day. And suddenly I had time to do things like actually watch television that wasn’t the Disney Chanel or Nickelodeon. I found Arrow and became completely obsessed.
> 
> I had just decided to try and write some more fanfiction (on a more moderate level) when I got a PM from fanfic.net telling me Checkmated and TheQuidditchPitch had closed and asking where she could find the rest of my stories. I was rather upset because I couldn’t actually find them (they were on the hard drive of a computer long gone). 
> 
> Thankfully, after much angst, I found my old flash drive buried at the bottom of my work desk. So, I dusted off my old HP fics and am working on posting them here. 
> 
> This chapter was supposed to set up another 50 chapters of I don’t even remember what, so I deleted the last scene which was a bridging Ginny scene and added two-three pages of closure for Ron and Hermione. Hopefully, they don’t seem too rushed and out of place (though I fear they do).
> 
> I’m really really sorry that the plot got dropped and that I didn’t get Harry and Ginny together (I’ll repost Snow again soon as a consolation), but, hey, at least Ron and Hermione get a happy ending. Thanks to everyone who took the time to read this monster. I certainly have learned my lesson and won’t ever write anything again without a clear beginning, middle, and end.
> 
> Thanks again,  
> Emmilyne.


End file.
